The EGD that wasn’t supposed to be

Every time I go to the hospital I swear it’s going to be different.  (But before I start my story, what is it about the hospital staff SHOUTING MY PERSONAL INFORMATION OUT FOR ALL THE WORLD TO HEAR?!  “ARE YOU STILL AT XX?”  WHAT IS THAT ABOUT ANYWAY?) I thought hoped prayed yesterday would be different and that at least I would have good veins.  Good, healthy, freaking, FAT veins in my arms that a needle would slide right into.


But, alas.  No.  Nope.  Didn’t happen.  Even with all my meditative mantras of, “Good veins.  Good, healthy veins.  Good veins”.  While my veins didn’t cooperate yesterday and I did have to have the IV in my hand (UGH!) I had 2 great nurses that were amazing.  That’s pretty rare.  I was very thankful and very lucky.

I was pretty drunk when I got to the hospital so that helped with my anxiety.  Luckily mom was there too and she could help with the weird questions, “Did I have any loose teeth?” and after I finally got settled with the IV the nurses wheeled me into the procedure room (is it called an Operating Room?  I actually don’t know!)  But I stayed in there forrrrrrrrrrrrever.  I don’t know if time just stood still, or the doctor was late, or what.  But, he finally came in but I hardly recognized him.  (Thanks Ativan!)  He asked me some questions but I don’t really remember them.  I told him that I stopped eating bananas and the horrific GERD decreased about 95%.  He thought it was the Ativan talking but I swear.  If you have acid reflux, stop eating bananas and see if that helps you.

The other technician put a plastic thing in my mouth and strapped it behind my head, and I remember the strap hurting my scar so they adjusted it.   I remember one of the other nurses showing me a picture on her phone of an operating room with Jesus Christ looking over the shoulder of the surgeon.  That was really nice to see and a nice visual before I went to sleep.

The next thing I remember I’m in the post-op room and my mom and I are waiting for the doctor.  I must still have been pretty drunk, because when he came in and said, “Biopsy”…I couldn’t wrap my head around that.  I mean, it’s not that big of a deal compared to brain surgeries, but when I saw the paperwork that said, “Multiple polyps”, and he asked my mom who I follow up with (oncologist), I kept pushing him on “HOW MANY POLYPS WERE THERE?”  He wouldn’t give me an answer.  Oh, balls.  Because when I had the colonoscopy and EGD 2 years ago I had 3 total polyps.  This was kinda a whole new ball game.  AND, if you were wondering, I’m not here for esophageal ANYTHING.  So, let’s just get that clear right now.

As I have told my mom all day today (and the end of yesterday), my throat hurts like, “A mother effer”.  Luden’s cough drops don’t do a darn thing for this sore throat.  I’m not thinking the worst.  I’m not thinking about all the cancers not yet documented for Cowden Syndrome.  I’m not thinking about tumor suppressor genes and what havoc they can wreak on bodies.  I’m actually thinking about how when I went to Chick-Fil-A for lunch today I didn’t get fries and I haven’t had chocolate at all today.

I’m here for THAT!

PS, Remember that one time when this happened?