This morning I had an endoscopy. For stomach, esophagus and duodenum.  Not colon, thank G-d.

But first the back story. DOB (father of blogger) has horrible reflux.  SOB (sister of blogger) sometimes has bad digestive episodes, but she never complains.  DOB, however, does complain, but if you ask him, he would say that he just describes the sensations searing through his digestive system.

[You can tell that the family parses these distinctions at the dinner table because, after all, Jews can talk about anything with their mouths full.  A curse and a blessing, that tribal trait.  But I digress from my back story.]

Like DOB, like Blogger.  I try to be more like stoic SOB, but recently I had become concerned about the severity of the reflux.  I even went to a doctor last Friday.  SOB went with me, in case I did not present the key elements of my “case”.  (Doctors are that way.)  The GI Guy (gastro-intestinal doctor) lectured me on how I need regular check-ups and screenings.

All the time I am thinking, “you are a really nice man and come highly recommended but, GI Guy, if I don’t listen to SOB, why would I listen to you?”  But GI Guy is SOB’s friend and colleague and I didn’t want to make waves.

Maybe GI Guy is a mind reader because he suggested that I consider an endoscopy.  Or more probably, based on my sparse history of going to doctors, he must have realized that I must be concerned if I was in his office.  We set today as the date for a look-see down my throat.  Then, SOB reiterated the lecture about getting checked out regularly.  So, I asked her if she practices what she preaches.  Pause.  I told her that she was unashamedly hypocritical.

It is amazing what you can find on the internet.  Pictures of not so good results:

I thought the procedure would look like this:

But not exactly.

Anyway, enough back story.  Fast forward to this morning at 6AM. I picked up SOB in a cab and we went over to fancy shmancy East Side for the procedure.  But at 6AM, even the tony, tony neighborhoods look like hell:

Still, I am not so unnerved by this.  I figure a relaxant and then a tube and a few pictures and that’s that.  And there was a spa two doors down…

Ok, not so much.

Blogger is on a gurney (the first picture is to show off the pedicure) next to really enthusiastic GI Guy – it IS 6am and the civilized world is still asleep or at least in their jammies.  (SOB is in the room (and taking pictures).)

The anesthesiologist shows up.  ANESTHESIOLOGIST?????  He mumbles questions and we had a little Marx Brothers routine, where he asked questions in English mumble, SOB translated into English non-mumble and then I answered in Blogger-ese.  SOB then had to translate into doctor-speak.  It could have been the United Nations, except we were all speaking some dialect of American English.

Thank G-d for SOB. She gave me a good luck kiss on my forehead, but I knew she was staying right next to the anesthesiologist.  She is my bodyguard and I am hers.

In went the IV and the propophyl (the stuff that killed Michael Jackson).  I had to bite down on a plastic ring and off to sleep I went.  I was awakened after the “scope” and tissue was scraped for biopsies.

First question to GI Guy when I awoke:  Did you take pictures for my blog?

I stayed loopy for a while.  GI Guy’s assistant told me: Do not to resume normal activities (she doesn’t know that no one ever ascribes “normal” to anything I do); do not go to work; do not make any important decisions; and do not sign legal documents; do not make business decisions.  As if directed at me specifically, she told me:  Do not do anything that requires unimpaired concentration or judgment.  I don’t get it; that is how I live every day.

So, I went to sleep.  That propophyl is awesome.