I don't know if you remember all my emergency room shenanigans in June?
In any case, the surgeon I saw referred me to a gastroenterologist, who I finally saw last week, who suggested we do an endoscopy just to rule out an ulcer or polyps or some such.
And you guys, I have an ulcer!
Nick asked if it's because I fret so much and I said the doctor said it's most likely due to marital stress, but they're culturing it to see if they find H pylori, which is apparently this wretched little ulcer-causing bacteria.
She didn't actually say anything about marital stress. She said these ulcers are typically from NSAIDS, but I don't take a lot of those. So, yah.
The doctor, who I really like, said they would sedate me with Propofol, which was the same stuff that Michael Jackson used, but not to worry, that it was totally safe.
And I was all, if it's the same drug they knocked me out with when I did IVF, I'm all for it. That was awesome.
I am indifferent to drugs, but I tell you in all candor that I can totally understand the appeal of having a canister or whatever of that stuff at home. It is delightful.
One minute you're counting, taking deep breaths while oxygen is shooting up your nostril and you maybe get to three. And then suddenly they're waking you up and you are so comfortable you wish you never had to get out of that hospital cot with the curtain partitions all around you. I wanted to ask if I couldn't just sleep a little longer.
Post-C-section Vicodin? No, thank you. Propofal? Magical!
Oh, and this reminds me--we've started watching Breaking Bad and it makes me extra glad Nick is a lawyer and not a meth dealer. I don't think I can keep watching, though, because it's not like it's actually going to become less stressful, right, with all the cancer and meth?
Anyway, the way the doctor put it, endoscopies are totally routine, and not to worry. So I didn't think I was worrying.
I kid you not when I say that the night before I was trying to decide what to wear. Jeans? Long sleeves? Bring a sweater? What does one wear to an endoscopy?
I even realized it was ridiculous. But I was still a little fixated.
Friends suggested helpful things such as socks, Chanel, red lipstick, and conservative underwear. This last suggestion was from my friend English, who said she always bears that in mind with the dermatologist and skin checks. Which makes sense to me, although thinking about it, I'm not sure why I care if my doctor thinks my underwear are too racy.
Fortunately I've gotten rid of all my really terrible underwear, because you know, I used to have a pair that was held together with a safety pin and whenever anyone saw it, it was really embarrassing. I had no explanation, and yet I kept it. I had them for years.
In any case, I was told I'd be in a gown and it didn't really matter what I wore, although definitely socks because my feet would get cold.
And then that night I had all these mega anxiety dreams. Like, sharks and rabies and Nick running off with some woman he met at a party. I was a little more stressed out than I thought.
I woke up late and barely managed to get dressed (with conservative underwear) and brush my teeth and get to my appointment on time.
They let you keep your bottoms on, as it turns out, so in the end the underwear didn't matter one bit. They just make you wear a gown on top to monitor your heart. They even let me keep my shoes on. So my feet were toasty.
I mean, in case you are ever in this situation and wonder what you should wear.
When it was all done, they gave me paperwork with color pictures of my insides, including the wee ulcer. And a set of strict instructions.
The nurse said that for the remainder of the day I couldn't: drink alcohol; smoke alone; exercise; drive a vehicle or operate heavy machinery; or sign legal documents or make critical decisions.
Naturally, I've resumed all of those activities today.