An endoscopy, for those of you that don't travel in gastrointestinal health circles, is an INVASIVE procedure where someone runs a scope down your throat to look around in there, and, if they feel so inclined, scrape off some samples with a weapon of their choosing. The scope is smaller than a hunting scope on a rifle, but still big enough that they have to knock you out to do it.
Anesthesia is a fun trip, assuming you come back from it. One minute I was staring at a room full of people in scrubs and hooked to a bunch of machines, and the next someone was waking me up in a totally different location with nary a nose cannula in sight. Where am I? How did I get here? When did I get here? Where's the nice man with the drugs?
Once I got my wits about me, my first real question was "What did you find?" Obviously, I wanted the answer to be nothing, for them to say I'm healthy as a horse with the silky mane of one too. But because this procedure cost us hundreds of dollars, I did sort of want them to find something. Something that warranted the expense. Like maybe if they had found Jimmy Hoffa down there, it would have all been worth it.
They didn't find Hoffa, or gold, or anything worth the tools they sent down. What they saw was a very angry and irritated looking stomach and esophagus. I don't know what my stomach has to be irritated about, I'm the one who can't eat Mexican food or chocolate!
The doctor did take some soil samples on the way down, just like NASA does every time we visit the moon. He won't know if my stomach can sustain lifeforms for a couple of weeks, but in the meantime he gave me a prescription to help with my symptoms. And the nurses gave me a pamphlet on what not to eat. It includes everything I've already eliminated plus TUMS fruit smoothies. Apparently TUMS (a.k.a. extra calcium) can create more acid in your stomach. Guess what I've been self-medicating with for weeks? Reason #256 of why you can't get a medical degree from a cracker jack box.
Another nurse mentioned that stress can make my situation worse. In my opinion, stress can make any situation worse. But mine in particular, I guess. She didn't have a prescription for that, but I do. I've contacted my insurance company and suggested they send me on a Caribbean vacation with Jim Gaffigan. I know, I know, you're thinking, Heather, you want Jim Gaffigan to be your companion on an island getaway? Have you not seen Channing Tatum? But here's the thing, laughter is the antidote for stress and Jim Gaffigan is the funniest person I can think of. I'd be stress free with a fully-functioning esophagus by the end of the week. (Even meeting Channing Tatum would only stress me out more. I'd be checking to make sure I didn't have any food on my teeth every five seconds and holding my stomach in until it touched my back. No thank you!)
So, I'm "recuperating" now. It involves lying around in the new fuzzy socks my mommy bought me for my procedure, eating mashed potatoes she made me for dinner again tonight, and holding a small memorial service for the Halloween candy I won't be eating this year.
I feel okay, but not great. My throat feels like someone shoved a rusty pipe down it and I'm not allowed to take the edge off with Sprite or Ginger Ale, which stresses me out, which creates more acid in my stomach, which is lighting my sore throat on fire, which is why, United Healthcare, I need a vacation with Jim Gaffigan!
yours truly,
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