"There's nothing wrong with you, stop imagining things and learn to live with the pain that's not really there" said the doctor (or something in that line).
"I still want an mri, please" said me.
"That's too expensive but fine I'll let you have that one. But then you're done. And we're doing a colonoscopy and gastroscopy too" said he.
"But I had those six months ago!"
"Fine we'll just do the gastroscopy but I am still going to make you poop your guts out just to punish you for coming to this hospital" he said. I may be paraphrasing slightly here.
My phantom gallbladder contracted spitefully with imaginary stress pain.
A nurse came to fetch me for the gastroscopy a little while later. I was surprised when she made me walk instead of wheeling me on the hospital bed (one of the highlights of being admitted, along with the medical equivalent of vodka and caviar; intravenous pharmaceutical draks).
The mri bell boy came at the same time but she told him I must go to the dr first, it'll "only be five minutes".
I thought this was rather strange because usually I lie around in the pre-theater room for about fifteen minutes, tripping on the calmy pill they give you when you pretend to be hysterically scared of going under, before the anaesthesiologist comes and offers me the specials of the day ("today I can offer you the roofy of forgetfulness or the magic mushroom of sleepy time and for dessert a nice injection of Morphle").
She led me to a reception area where other normal people sat and told me to sit down and stfu.
"Um, excuse me mrs nurse but I haven't been given my knocker-outer for this procedure yet?"
"Yes usually we don't do that here, but you can ask the doctor"
"The guy that thinks I have munchausen?"
But she was already gone. Did she even really exist?
I was led to a cluttered room where I was handed a green laminated card with instructions typed on it.
- Don't cough while pipe is down throat and deep into stomach
- Don't grab or scrabble maniacally at the doctor's arms while he's pushing said pipe down throat and deep into stomach until little bit can be seen peeking out of your anus
- Stop crying and man the fuck up
Or something in that line.
"It's not painful, it's just uncomfortable" said the lady with the strong arms who had handed me the card.
"Isn't that code for extremely painful and humiliating?"
She held my gaze without blinking.
"Here's my patient!" The doctor said jovially as he skipped into the room.
"Now please lie down on your left side and open wide"
I was starting to think this was all a vivid nightmare and started wishing I would wake up soon.
"Um, Doctor, I think you forgot about the anaesthesia and the part where I am knocked unconscious for the entire procedure?"
"That's too expensive, now say aaaah"
Wait, what? Again with the expensiveness. Are YOU paying for the anaesthesia or am I?
He inserted a thing into my mouth that resembled the speculum the gyne uses to jack open your special place so he could inspect your tonsils. The strong armed lady pinned me to the bed and held me down with both her arms and her upper body. I could see the stubble on her cheek. She smelled of Old Spice and depression and I could swear I saw a tattoo on her upper arm that said "Mom", peeking from under under her sleeve.
"This little miss is an oral hygienist so she knows all about mouth stuff"
What?
He then proceeded to ram a crowbar into the back of my mouth.
"Now just give me a tiny swallow"
"Whike a whird?"
(Like a bird?)
They waited patiently for me to swallow the crowbar. I tentatively tried and felt like a large crowbar was inserted into my throat and I was being forced to try and swallow it. Which is exactly what was happening.
This is hell. I'm in hell. I thought to myself.
I finally managed to gobble the pipe down and felt it wiggling down my esophagus, ram it's way through my peptic valve and into my stomach.
"I am now pumping your stomach full of air so I can see better"
"WAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" I exclaimed as I reflexively vomited all of the air out along with a bit of my stomach lining and spleen.
"No. Bad patient! Stout! Don't vomit up the air or I have to do it again and it'll take longer, just breathe"
I screwed shut my eyes and allowed some more air into my stomach.
".....WAAAAAAAAargh!"
'Stop it!"
Again the doctor inflated my stomach exactly like a rugby ball.
"WARGLE?"
"No"
I panted the way I do when I decide to start jogging and get halfway around the block before changing my mind and going home to bake (flop) brownies and then cry into them.
"Almost done. I am retreating now"
I could feel the hosepipe slowly trailing my insides and waaaaarghed a bit more to help it along.
"All done, see ya later!" Said the doctor as I sat up to mop my streaming eyes and nose.
"Time for your mri, mrs G!"
"Have you had anything to eat or drink today?" The radiologist asked me.
"Yeah, I just ate a camera"
"Haha, yes I heard"
(You heard me waaaaaargh all the way across the hospital or heard as in a little bird told you?)
She pushed me into a narrow tunnel.
"The machine is going to give you instructions, please follow them closely"
I started panicking a little bit once inside because I suddenly felt extremely claustrophobic and a bit like Sandra Bullock in The Vanishing (spoiler, she was buried alive, slowly suffocating as Keifer Sutherland fannied about looking for her).
"Breathe in" said the machine in a monotone female voice.
Why is it always a female voice? I am forever screaming curses at the gps/robot vacuum/Siri and Google assistant, calling it a crazy bitch. I bet if it were a man's voice we'd all be celebrating the machines for being assertive and strong and then proceed to give it a promotion and a massive pay raise.
"Now breathe normally"
I blew air out of my mouth and pretended I was doing yoga until I remembered that I hated yoga and would rather be hospitalized, tortured and ridiculed before doing it again, ever. Especially Bikrum Hot Yoga, what kind of sadistic maniac invented that? Trying to balance on one of your ears while having heat stroke sucks balls.
"Breathe in. Now breathe out NO IN AGAIN, haha!" Said the machine.
Crazy bitch.
"There's nothing wrong with you other than a minuscule hernia in your stomach and a weird lymph issue in your gut that's reserved exclusively for children" said the doctor later.
YOU'RE a minuscule hernia in my stomach and a weird lymph issue in my gut that's exclusively reserved for children, I wanted to say.
It was not my first rodeo when it came to contracting kid diseases when I am not technically allowed to.
I once came down with coxsackie (hand, foot, mouth disease) after putting my baby's whole foot into my mouth just to see if it would fit.
"Fanfuckingtastic, can I please go home now?"
"Please do" he said.
Driving to Seemann's to buy a whole cheesecake
to eat in the car on the way home, I reflected on my life choices.
Maybe I should just up my psych meds and save us all some money and tears.
