More like FUN-doscopy, right?

Jan 07, 2013

 

Woke up this morning around nine o'clock and by ten o'clock my dad and I were on our way up to the hospital for my endoscopy. No eating or drinking after midnight meant, of course, no breakfast—and no water! As well as no lotion, no hair product, no deodorant. Clad in my favorite gray hoodie and gray sweatpants, I was ready.

 

At the hospital, the young woman who checked me in did some calling around and let me know that my husband and I will end up paying over a thousand dollars for the endoscopy. Oof. Not really shocking, of course, but kind of a buzz kill all the same. At least they said they'd bill us instead of holding me at gunpoint till we could produce the money that day.

 

Then my dad and I were led up to the waiting room where he would spend the next several hours camped out with a good (and, luckily, long) book. I was weighed. I was actually pretty eager to be weighed because I've finally started tracking my food and exercise on MyFitnessPal and wanted to be accurate about everything. It was weird, though—the nurse who weighed me asked in hushed tones if I wanted to know what it was “in pounds” (the scale showed 103ish kg, if I remember correctly.) I said yes, she figured it out on a calculator, then showed me the calculator all secretly, with her hand over it. Like it was a big, shameful secret? Weird. I didn't expect that from a nurse at a hospital that sees a lot of bariatric patients, but whatever. (And of course now I'm worried that my just-under-35 BMI will give the insurance company an excuse to be jerks about covering the surgery—but they'll go by my first weight when I visited the surgeon in early December. Right? RIGHT?)

 

Then I got to hang out in a little room for basically ever. Stripped to the waist, gown on, chilling in the bed. Fortunately Dad had lent me the latest New Yorker so I got to amuse myself with that. Could've watched TV but eh. Nurses went over a bunch of questions, double checked my ID bracelets, confirmed medication allergies, etc. Lots of time went by. An anesthesiologist popped in, said I'd be conscious but sedated so I might remember parts of the procedure. That was cool; I didn't mind. At some point I got an IV put in.

Alone in the little room I started to feel foolish, like I don't deserve weight loss surgery—why should all these professionals make a fuss over me when I'm not even THAT fat in the grand scheme of things, blah blah blah. Just a little pity party, as one throws oneself when left alone in a tiny hospital room with plenty of time to ruminate on one's character flaws. Fortunately there were several good articles in the January 7 New Yorker, so I was able to distract myself.

Finally, I got wheeled into what I guess must have been an actual operating room. The surgeon was there, humming and seemingly in excellent spirits. A different anesthesiologist told me they'd be knocking me out cold—okay! I got oxygen up the nose, they had me turn on my side and lay there with a little tube thing in between my front teeth and then...I was waking up and it was over. Frankly, I was skeptical they even performed the procedure. Felt wide-awake and even refreshed. (Kind of sad that this was probably the best sleep I've enjoyed in months?)

 

They wheeled me into a recovery room with other patients. I was offered water but wasn't feeling it and the doctor hadn't ordered it so I didn't need to drink any. They checked my blood pressure several times and might have done other stuff. Finally I was wheeled back to another of the little waiting rooms where yet another nurse gave me the run down: no aspirin or other anti-inflammatory meds for at least two weeks (due to biopsies), no driving today, no important decisions...she took out my IV and let me get dressed. They let my dad know to go bring around the car, and I was done. I'm to call the surgeon's office and schedule a follow-up to go over the results. Two weeks.

 

Got to take home pictures of my insides, which pleased me greatly. And I feel totally vindicated because I SO DO HAVE a hiatal hernia. I just like being right about stuff. There were other findings too, but I guess I'll hear more about their implications when I meet with the surgeon in two weeks.

 

Been feeling pretty good all afternoon and into the evening—aside from drippy nose, from the oxygen I think. (I get the same thing with my sleep apnea nostril pillows, gross.) And by six o'clock or so I was finally feeling a bit of the sore throat from having a camera rammed down there. But overall? No complaints.

So ready to make appointments for labs, see the internist, take the mandatory pre-surgery class, etc. Getting excited, getting nervous. And realizing we're going to BLOW THROUGH our deductible in record time this year.

 

Big shout-out to my parents for making so much of this possible. Not sure what I would have done if Dad hadn't been available and willing to drive me both ways AND hang out the whole time. Best dad ever? Yes.

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