I had a little adventure yesterday when I went into the hospital for what was supposed to be a small, no-big-deal procedure. I realized when they were strapping me up with a hospital bracelet, and making me put on the whole hospital gown and paper booties that nothing you have to go to the hospital to have done is ever going to be as small and no-big-deal as the doctor convincing you to have the procedure tells you when you’re sitting, fully clothed, in his office.

First, the nurse seriously messed up my IV when she was putting it in, which has now turned into a very swollen, very nasty and very painful bruise. Then, as if putting an IV in wasn’t enough to scare me, they put on an automatic blood pressure cuff, one of those up-the-nose oxygen tubes, the clampy thing on my finger to check my pulse and oxygen levels and some sort of ball gag looking device that kept my mouth open so they could put a tube down my throat. The doctor and nurse quickly instilled confidence in their abilities when they kept wondering aloud why the blood pressure cuff didn’t deflate and my hand was starting to look blue. My favourite part was when I kept hearing that noise that machines in the hospital make when someone flatlines because the clampy thing kept losing my pulse. You think the doctor would have noticed right away that my little fingers maybe weren’t big enough to fit in the damn thing, but instead he blamed me for moving. As if I was dealing a game of cards.

The pain from the IV, the annoying noises and the doctor blaming me for his incompetence quickly went away after they pumped me full of demerol and valium. Yummy. The next thing I remember after that was sitting up in the recovery room pulling the oxygen off and asking if I could go home.

From then, I really only remember bits and pieces. I remember sitting next to a woman who was describing her colonoscopy and trying desperately not to break out in a fit of laughter while thinking “are you seriously saying this to me?” I remember doing a running commentary about other cars’ driving abilities to the cab driver on the way home. Then apparently I called my mother and said a lot of random things I don’t remember. After that I passed out in a drug-induced coma for the next 5 hours. It was a fun day.


3 Responses to “Gastroscopy”

  1. Anonymous Says:

    I’m wary of any proceedure with the suffix “oscopy.”

  2. Estrogen Overdosed Says:

    You better hope they didn’t use that lady’s colonoscopy tube for you…:-)

  3. Jenny Says:

    Yeah, I should have been more wary, but I thought that since it didn’t start with “colon” I was going to be alright.

    Dad – Seriously, that’s just gross. You should be banned from using the internet.

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