I’m currently shoveling in a baked potato. Like, the loaded kind. You know… the sour cream, the chives {oh! the chives}, the shredded cheese, the smoked bacon. And this one has a salted “peel”. It’s exceptional. I had the husband pick it up for me on his way home from watching soccer. Because, baked potatoes. They have become my craving. It started with chemo. Alllll I wanted after Chemo were either the Kolache Factory Ham and Cheese kolaches {look them up. Delicious.} or a baked potato with all the fixins and a side of broccoli. Then, when I had surgery. That’s all I wanted, once again. Which I thought and feared that perhaps, I’d never again in my life want a baked potato after eating them on Chemo but luckily, this is not the case. And then, again, yesterday, as I had an empty stomach, prepping for a colonoscopy, allllll I wanted, once again was a loaded spud. So, I’ve marked my down days with the bright spot: the Baked Potato.
Let me back peddle just a bit. Today, I had my first ever fecal transplant. I talked about it here before. I talked about c diff. And the shits. The c diff shits that smell like raw sewage. And come rushing through you like a current river in Texas. It’s a situation. Clostridium Difficile is a bacterial stomach issue that occurs when your good flora {bacteria} in your tum tum gets knocked down by antibiotics and a weakened immune system. Then, your stomach starts attacking you. Totally shitting out on you. For hours on end. It’s all types of fun.
So, every time I got on an antibiotic, I would recur with c diff. The first time, I was given Flagyl which, to me, is remembered as the antibiotic that you are disallowed from drinking while on. And then, there was Difficid. Which one of my nurses accidentally called Dicklicks. And told me I needed to do it four times a day. I mean, that’s hilarious. I don’t care who you are. Difficid worked like a charm but it was $3000. Not kidding. It was $3000 which my insurance covered. But most insurances, apparently don’t. So, for bouts two and three, I was on Dicklicks Difficid four times daily. Then, for the fourth flare up, I went to Dr. Allison Freifeld with Nebraska Meds Infectious Disease Dept. This means that anyone who walks in the room has to be gloved, masked, and gowned because I pretty much could have been the monkey from Outbreak.
Doc Freifeld and her nurse, Amanda, put me on a six week Vankomyacin taper which meant that I started out taking 4 pills every day for seven days, then 3, then 2, then 1, then 1 every other. It was quite the operation. But it seemed to assuage the C. Diff bacteria. And then they told me what I’d been told from the beginning. This was the point of too many recurrences. This would just continue to happen to me every time I needed an antibiotic. And over time and as I age, it would just make me sicker and sicker. They also put up with my ridiculous jokes about poop and the out hole and all that jazz.
Enter Dr. Alexander Hewlett. The poop shoot guru. The hubs and I saw him together to discuss our bowel bonding — a fecal transplant. Yes. This is real. I know it’s real because I lived it today.
So, they screened the hub’s poo to make sure he didn’t have any STDs or Autoimmune issues {praise the Lawd that came back clear. That could have been an awkward discussion} and then, we got on the schedule for the transplant.
I started the colonoscopy prep on Monday. I learned a few things about myself. I am a complete raging beast when I get hangry. I went through a period in my life where I didn’t eat and I found myself realizing yesterday how mean I must have been during that phase. I also get exceptionally exhausted when I don’t have any calories. And, I do not have a bit issue with poop.
The worst part about the prep, though, was the drinking. Starting at 5 on Monday, I drank 8 ounces of the Dooce Juice every 10 minutes. Once I through half, I started potty time. And then, I started the second half of the jug at ten. With the potty party beginning at around 11 again. The pooping wasn’t really that shitty. I mean, c Diff is pretty much uncontrollably pooping. But the drink — blerg. I’ve been told it’s better to drink cold or with crystal light. Two things that COULD HAVE BEEN BROUGHT TO MY ATTENTION YESTERDAY. Luckily, I’m very proficient at taking shots. So there’s that.
This morning I woke up… still no food… nothing to drink. We headed down to Nebraska Medicine for me to have an echocardiogram at 10. And by this point, I was super hangry. And then, up to GI. The nurses again, were AWESOME and funny. Loved them as I was in “pre-op”. They hooked me up to an IV, took a pregnancy test {negative.}, and then, after a little wait, Adam and I said a prayer and I was headed back for the procedure. 
A fecal transplant goes like this: The donor {often a person you co-habitate with} drops their dooce into a container {a sample about the size of an orange} about 4 hours prior to the procedure. And then, they take it to the diagnostic center. The dc then blends it on up and preps it for your colon only. Then, they bring the specimen into the surgery room, and put mama out for the colonoscopy. Via the butt tube, the doc gets everything loaded up into your Cecum and shoots the prepped poo into you. And why? Because you want to replace the bad angry bacteria with good, happy flora. So, that’s what we did today.
To be honest, I was most nervous about having a looksee in another area of my body that I hadn’t explored since this diagnosis. But apparently, my colon was in beautiful shape. There was nothing funky. And it was well ready for the pristine poo from my partner.
Following the procedure, they really want you to try to keep the poo in as looooooong as possible. That gives it a better opportunity for the procedure to work its magic. They told me that they definitely didn’t want me dropping the kids off at the pool for at least 6 hours. And up to two days would be amazing. I think we’ll land somewhere in between that now that I’ve eaten the baked potato.
After getting wheeled to the car, we stopped to grab some soup for a late lunch. The hubs brought me home, tucked me into bed with a blanket, brought up a lunch tray, and after eating, I took a 4 hour nap. Because taking someone else’s shit is apparently exhausting.
So yes. Fecal Transplants are not unicorns, peeps. They totally exist. They are 90% effective although still known as an investigative procedure which sort of means it’s in Beta. But I was all about that bass if it meant that I would no longer have to endure ass-plosions every time I have to have an antibiotic the rest of my life. And, the best news is that my colon looked all clear. No cancer hiding in there, my friends. Woot!
And as for the day, I think I’ll just refer to it as a baked potato day rather than the day my husband’s poo was shot into my stomach. Because baked potatoes are amazing. And I’d rather remember the amazing parts of the day like Dr. Hewlett’s ability to take my crude and crass sense of humor, the exceptionally kind nurses and staff, and another day spent with my hubby in order to help mama stay healthy. Because baked potato days are not all bad, my friends. They are not all bad.
