
I didn't know what was coming when I plopped myself down in the waiting room of an Ear, Nose, and Throat clinic yesterday -- which is a good thing. Had I known what doctors would do to me, I may have run the other way. I may have learned to live with the pain I was experiencing each time I swallowed food. But I waited patiently, aware that doctors would "scope" my esophagus, mildly certain the procedure could be uncomfortable, completely unprepared for the full "scope" experience.
I swallowed a pill on Friday night -- not even a whole pill, just a half of one pill -- and it hurt when it went down my throat. I've had the feeling before, a sensation like the pill got stuck, but the discomfort has always gone away within a few hours. This time, it lasted. It hurt to swallow saliva. It hurt to swallow food. It just hurt. So after three days, I took myself to the clinic -- with the subtle worry that cancer was settling in my esophagus.
I know rationally that every ache and pain I experience is not cancer. But I've had cancer. And so I constantly battle a nagging fear lodged deep in my head that reminds me cancer is always a possibility, that cancer is often a shocking outcome of a routine little test for a simple little health concern.
I do not have cancer. I do not have cancer of the throat, voice box, esophagus, or stomach. That's the good news. The scope revealed -- via a tiny camera that traveled through my body -- nothing but healthy tissue. That makes me happy. The test did not make me happy.
I now know the scope is a long, thin tube that enters the body through one nostril. Ouch. It travels into the throat. Ouch. The patient swallows when it reaches the throat to assist in maneuvering it down further. Ouch. The scope then makes its way past the voice box, though the esophagus, and into the stomach. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. The travels are all displayed on a monitor, and I actually got a glimpse of these body parts -- during the split second when I was able to control my gagging, loosen my grip on the arms of the exam chair, and open my clinched eyes. So I saw for myself that everything looks healthy -- just before the tube was pulled right back through all these parts, leaving me with a very sore throat.
Now that I am home and have talked with a few people, I hear that some patients are unconscious for this procedure. They are completely unaware of the horrors of the scope. I got a few sprays to numb my nose and throat and drank a thick cocktail of lidocaine -- but I did not get the luxury of unconsciousness. And in the end that is okay. I got to see what was happening. I got to hear the doctor's revelation that nothing major is wrong. I got to witness the wonder of medical technology. I got to prove to myself that I can handle a little discomfort in exchange for a clean bill of health. And I got to learn that I have a bit of acid reflux. And now I have to squash that nagging fear that reminds me of the literature out there suggesting a link between acid reflux and cancer.