The day after I made the appointment for my endoscopy, I started silently worrying something would go wrong. It is my nature to joke about things that worry me. #moonwalk {See previous post}
I hugged Little Miss a little extra. I snuggled my horses a little longer. I did all the things a little extra in preparation for a minor (but really how minor is a camera going down one's throat) procedure before we set out for my early morning appointment.
We arrived early. While I am a better-late-than-never kind of person, my husband is more of a you're-late-if-you aren't-early kind of fella. #yethereweare So...we are early- he's sipping his coffee, when I realize I should probably look over the instructions for my procedure. I hadn't eaten, that was one instruction I remembered vividly.
"Huh...no nail polish? Well I'm not doing that. No makeup? I'm glad I didn't read this last night. Bunch of negativity is all this is," I mumbled.
We sat quietly for a few minutes and I knew I had to speak my irrational, yet completely rational-in-the-moment thoughts.
"If I die...do NOT sell my horses," I said.
He almost spit out his coffee.
"What? You'll be fine!"
"I'm serious. You cannot under any circumstances sell them. IF you can't care for them, which would make me really haunt you...they can go to one of the following two places," I said while listing off pre-approved homes.
My sweet husband let out a deep sigh.
"And...also...this was not til death...this," I said, pointing at our wedding bands, "is forever."
I'm not sure which was making him more nervous, my post-mortem instructions or my pending procedure. Regardless, it was showtime.
They took me back relatively quickly. I was instructed to put on a lovely gown and hop onto the bed to wait for my IV. I sat quietly, twirling my necklace. Shit, I was supposed to take off my jewelry.
After my IV was in, I listened to the conversations going on beside me. An older man had just had a colonoscopy and his wife was telling him he couldn't drive home. He argued that he was still a better driver than her.
I hope I don't say everything I am thinking after this, I thought to myself.
"You look nervous," said the little Asian anesthesiologist, as she opened the curtain.
Oh dear, she looks just like Kai-Lan.
My mind flashed back to yester-year, when Little Miss watched endless amounts of Ni Hao, Kai-Lan and I worried she would learn to speak English with a Chinese accent. My real-life concern at that moment was that as soon as she administered my happy meds, I would tell her. Or order an egg roll because lets face it, I was starving. #jesustakethewheel #alwaysfivetenminute
"Will you be with me the whole time?" I asked.
"Yep! Don't worry...you be fine," she replied.
The last thing I remember was telling the gastroenterologist that I wanted to go out to breakfast- not with him, but I wanted him to put it in my release order that my husband was to take me to Cracker Barrel...and Chic-Fil-A. (I consciously didn't mention Chinese food.)
It felt like seconds later, I was in recovery. Apparently, I had a lengthy conversation with a nurse about how ridiculous it was to tell patients they can't wear nail polish or makeup. #dumbrule
I may have whisper-yelled something about being a rebel.
#nobodyputsbabyinacornerwithoutmascara
"You might want to take her phone from her...she will tell people what she really thinks today and that might not be good for her work," the nurse explained.
"I work for a lawyer," I slurred.
"Oh yes. Hide her phone," she said.
All in all, the procedure was a success. My doctor, who did leave instructions to stop for food on the way home, said he found nothing alarming in my esophagus. I do have reflux but he feels we can manage it with medication. #bless
"Did I tell you my anesthesiologist was Asian?" I asked my husband on the way home.
"Yes, about five different times," he said, chuckling.
"Oh...I think I ordered us dinner from her...at least I didn't moonwalk," I said, proudly.
At least...I don't think I did.
**Thank you for all the prayers!**