Here’s why getting an upper endoscopy is really fun. One, it’s not a colonoscopy (the “upper” is key). Two, the doctors might figure out why you’re burping and need to take TUMS all the time. Three, they give you fantastic drugs.
When the doctor was pitching the procedure we had a little Q and A.
Q: What are you talking about doing?
A: We’re going to stick a bunch of cable down your throat.
Q: Are you going to knock me out for that?
A: Better! What we do is give you a couple of drugs that make you feel very “comfortable”. Most people don’t remember what happened.
Q: Wow. So then am I all good, can I go to work and stuff?
A: God no! You will be messed up. You can’t go to work, can’t drive home, you just have to kick back and feel the good feeling.
Q: Can I take a bus home?
A: You’ll need to be escorted home.
This sounded like a quality experience, so I signed on up.
Here’s what happens when you get an upper endoscopy. First you fill out a lot of forms and prove you have a person to escort you home. They are serious about this. Then you sit around a waiting room, play with your iPhone or read last week’s Newsweek, maybe write to twitter.
Then a cool dude takes you to the back. He says he’s a nurse, and it’s not weird. You put your shoes and whatever in a bag and lie on a bed in a little curtained enclosure. The guy puts an IV in your arm, but it’s not attached to anything yet. Then the guy gets called away to do something else, and you wait a long time. The IV sort of hurts, and you get nervous about that. You look at the IV, and immediately regret looking because it’s gross, you can see the bulge under your skin. You hear the person the next curtain over talking to an attentive lady nurse, accepting an offered magazine. You wish you had a magazine to distract you from the IV, but you’re too shy to yell through the curtain.
Eventually a new nurse comes and wheels you to where it’s going to happen. You ask about the IV hurting, she says it’s normal enough and you’ll be getting something for that soon. You’re in a dark room with a guy busily setting up equipment. The guy looks at some information, looks at the nurse, and says, “Hey wait, this isn’t a colonoscopy!” He isn’t kidding, and you all start laughing. The guy says to the nurse, “If it was up to you everyone would get a colonoscopy.” And you say, “Well it would have been funny later,” and everyone laughs and likes you. Then they drug you.
The last thing you remember is lengths of cord going down your throat. You sort of think, Hey Now, that’s lots of cord! But you pretty much don’t care.
Then you’re in another room, and it’s weird. But you feel good. Your doctor comes in and tells you to call in five days to learn what they found, and then he disappears like he’s magic, or like you just leaped forward in time. You see nurses, and ask how you got where you are. The nurses say you were just talking to them, how it’s odd you seem to have just become conscious again. They put your bag of shoes on a nearby table, and tell you to take your time getting ready. Feeling good, you move to twist your body and swing your feet to the floor, but really your arm just rises about an inch before falling limp. The next time you try it works, and you get the impression time jumped again.
When you step into the waiting room, a woman waiting asks, “Why are you smiling so much?” You just laugh. You start to wonder if she thinks you’re a maniac, but she’s not there anymore. You realize you don’t remember getting to the waiting room. You sit and take out your phone. You’ve made some calls you won’t remember. Instantly, your ride shows up. Later your ride apologizes for making you wait so long, but that’s not your experience.
Then you’re home. You feel so good you want it to last, but soon you pass out for four hours. You wake up, eat a huge sub sandwich, and pass out for two more hours.
Then your throat hurts, and you realize the drugs have passed.