There was a bad man with a tube

I will never whine again (maybe) about a leg waxing after what I went through yesterday. Back in 2001, I had a gastroscope procedure done in Texas. They hooked me up to an IV, injected me with drugs, and exactly half a second later, I woke up and the procedure was over. I went home and had good, long nap. Not bad right?

I do not want to use my blog as a forum for complaining about various personal ailments, but I will certainly have to vent about my first and-if-I-have-anything-to-do-with-it LASTLASTLAST Italian hospital experience.

Hhhaaaaah. I know it is not necessary to point out the fact that things are different here, but things are very different here. I went down the private hallway where there were 2 examination rooms and the gastroenterologist's office at the end. He walked out of his office to greet me while asking if we minded that he smoked. By the open window, he asked me a few questions, while smoking--in the hospital. Classic Italia.

I was quite nervous, having been told already that there would be no shots of sleepy drugs and no anesthetic to kill my gag reflex, but I was assured that the scope was very small and that it would be fast. Small is relative.

Relative to a drainage canal, the scope was indeed small.

I won't go into the details, but having a finger-sized tube shoved down my throat into my stomach for 7 minutes with all reflexes fully functioning is something I will unfortunately never forget.

Even though my brain knew that the tube had to stay in just a little longer, my basic survival instincts guided my hands toward the scope to pull it the hell out of my throat. The doctor even yelled at me, can you believe that? He yelled! Dr. Smokinginthehospital yelled at me. He told me to calm down and BREATHE. If I were able to BREATHE I would have told him exactly and precisely and not so gently where he could shove that evil scope. The only problem was that my entire throat was almost closed by a tube that was causing me to vomit.

Ok, that was a little graphic. But WHY did I have to be conscious? At least the nurse was with me, letting me squeeze her hands as tears streamed down my face. I'm such a wuss.

Although he was doing his job, and surely doing it well, I just might do it all over again for a chance to be alone in a room with Dr. Smokinginthehospital.

Just him, me, and a waxing table.