I awoke this morning, feeling clean and empty but nervous. Because I had not eaten in more than 24 hours, the butterflies were given free reign in my empty stomach. Appropriately, my dad drove me in to Albany Memorial, and after the standard check in procedures and insurance rigamarole, I was laid on a bed in a private room. To one side was a large flat panel TV and a number of machines. I was told to lie on my side, revealing all that I own, as my threadbare gown made no attempt at modesty. Electrodes were fastened to my chest, an IV was inserted in my hand, and oxygen put in my nose. I pictured the ocean to calm my nerves, and that particular strategy may have been too successful, the alarm blared to notify the nurse that my heartbeat was too slow.
The doctor came in, briefly squeezed my shoulder and ordered the "cocktail" of versed to be pushed through. As I began to doze, I heard the song "Baby, Come to Me" on the radio, and I remarked that it always reminded me of sitting in my grandmother's living room, watching General Hospital with her. For just one second, I pondered that if the great beyond truly did exist, she could be sending me a sign, but with that...I was out.
I came to midway through the procedure, with the extra large images of my colon, bile and all, directly in front of my face, and an intense pain surging through my gut, as they pushed air in to fill the space and make room for the camera. I watched for a bit, until I could not stand the pain anymore, and they gave me more versed.
The next time I awoke, I was in recovery, surrounded by the sounds of other patients being urged to, and finally succumbing to passing gas to get the extra air out from their procedures. The nurse was at my side almost instantaneously, and informed me that they had found two polyps, one large and one small, and had removed both. They would be sent in to be biopsied, and I would have to meet with the gastroenterologist again in two weeks to discuss not only the results, but the fact that I now was going to be considered more of a high risk patient, and how it would be necessary to test me more often to keep tabs. I stored those words on a shelf in my mind, where all warnings go, so that I could listen to the kids excitedly tell me about their adventures in the park (Morgan-stung by a bee not once but twice!), McDonald's (Lucas- had lemonade! Babies- went up and down the stairs!)
When I came home, my ravenous hunger and thirst had all but disappeared, and in place, I was suddenly queasy, and shaky and after removing my warning from my dusty shelf, a little worried.
There are very few things I know for certain in this life, but what I can tell you is that getting a procedure like this done is worse in anticipation than in reality. The relief you feel post- appointment, far surpasses any embarrassment you may have had before. When I was downstairs in the playroom with the five kids, I thought of how selfish it was for me to have ignored my problem for close to a year. How selfish and irresponsible to think myself invincible, or too busy to get to a specialist. I will not make that same mistake again.
The doctor came in, briefly squeezed my shoulder and ordered the "cocktail" of versed to be pushed through. As I began to doze, I heard the song "Baby, Come to Me" on the radio, and I remarked that it always reminded me of sitting in my grandmother's living room, watching General Hospital with her. For just one second, I pondered that if the great beyond truly did exist, she could be sending me a sign, but with that...I was out.
I came to midway through the procedure, with the extra large images of my colon, bile and all, directly in front of my face, and an intense pain surging through my gut, as they pushed air in to fill the space and make room for the camera. I watched for a bit, until I could not stand the pain anymore, and they gave me more versed.
The next time I awoke, I was in recovery, surrounded by the sounds of other patients being urged to, and finally succumbing to passing gas to get the extra air out from their procedures. The nurse was at my side almost instantaneously, and informed me that they had found two polyps, one large and one small, and had removed both. They would be sent in to be biopsied, and I would have to meet with the gastroenterologist again in two weeks to discuss not only the results, but the fact that I now was going to be considered more of a high risk patient, and how it would be necessary to test me more often to keep tabs. I stored those words on a shelf in my mind, where all warnings go, so that I could listen to the kids excitedly tell me about their adventures in the park (Morgan-stung by a bee not once but twice!), McDonald's (Lucas- had lemonade! Babies- went up and down the stairs!)
When I came home, my ravenous hunger and thirst had all but disappeared, and in place, I was suddenly queasy, and shaky and after removing my warning from my dusty shelf, a little worried.
There are very few things I know for certain in this life, but what I can tell you is that getting a procedure like this done is worse in anticipation than in reality. The relief you feel post- appointment, far surpasses any embarrassment you may have had before. When I was downstairs in the playroom with the five kids, I thought of how selfish it was for me to have ignored my problem for close to a year. How selfish and irresponsible to think myself invincible, or too busy to get to a specialist. I will not make that same mistake again.
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