Endoscopy

I could feel it then, and can almost still feel it now. How the long, long black tube wriggled down my throat, and wormed its way into the stomach. I leaned on my side, breathed deeply like the physician asked me to, and felt a tear in the corner of my eye.

I stared blankly at the wall, at a 3D diagram of the gastronintestinal tract, but could feel the tube push against the walls of my esophagus, and the ends of the fiberscope poke around in the inside of my stomach. It was as if there was something alive in me, and the sickening sensation made me shiver. Were it not for a shot of some drug that calmed all stomach activity, I would have easily thrown up there and then. And even if I were to throw up, there would not have been much, as I was told not to consume anything, not even water, 12 hours before the check up.

My mum and brother both told me that the procedure would be very uncomfortable, but that it would only take one or two minutes. I lay there, bit hard on a white piece of plastic that inducted the endoscope into my mouth, and wondered how long had already passed. Each time the doctor inserted the tube further inward, it was as if I could feel and see it wriggle, feel and see it slide and slither like a black snake inside me.
Every few seconds, a Windows warning alarm would suddenly sound on the hi-tech computer behind me, which I presumed was the doctor taking stills of my digestive system. I felt like gagging, but the anaesthetic sprayed into my mouth before the whole procedure made it difficult to swallow or gargle. The aftertaste of a cocktail that was both sweet and chemical seemed to burn my tongue, and numbed my throat for almost a good hour afterwards.

Just as quickly and smoothly as the doctor had inserted the endoscope, he retracted it. Again, I could feel the tube wriggle out, brush against the walls of the my throat, then finally touch my already numb tongue and out of my mouth. I saw the tube in front of me, flexible and bendy, its head round and made of glass, with a bright, glowing LED light. For a few seconds I lay on the bed, still on my side, feet curled up like a baby, and suddenly felt very vulnerable, very alone and wanted the warmth and comfort of something familiar. And I finally understood. Understood why mum had wanted to accompany me to the hospital (and which I resisted), even though an hour earlier she had just had her invitro-chemo needle removed. I thought of mum, of my brother, and of my dad, who had all undergone the very intrusive procedure, and it was as if I could feel their fear, their suffering and longing for company while they underwent endoscopy checkup. Later I would learn that mum prayed and thought of me and was worried sick about how I was doing.

Thanks to the efficient health care system, within half an hour of being admitted for the check-up, I received the results. All good, no ulcer as feared, just a little inflammation of the stomach, most likely due to stress, which makes it difficult for the stomach to properly digest food, especially when you eat too quickly and too inattentively. Avoid tea, coffee, milk, Yakult, cheese, yoghurt and the like, the doctor suggested, and see how things go. I even received some prescription medication which are to last for about two weeks. I thanked the doctor and the nurse, again and again and again before I left the ward.

I was relieved, especially as for the last couple of months I have been getting a bloated sensation in the bowels often after I finish eating. Sometimes the sensation would las for hours, and would be aggrevated when I eat more, and it made me wonder whether something was seriously wrong. Especially given my parent's history with digestive problems.

I walked out of the hospital, and felt the warm sun against my face. I hurried past patients and their relatives in wheelchairs sunbathing in the garden. I felt light, like I was given a renewed chance to live, to go on with my life, to pursue my wishes and plans, and realised once again how very important good health and living really is.