Well tomorrow is the day! What day? I hear you say. Well, the one where I reluctantly travel to the hospital for what I can only describe as torturous to say the least --- call me chicken, I don't mind! I'm talking about the dreaded endoscope. There's not much I can't say I've had done to me over the past few years and although it takes very little time, it still has to be my most least favourite test of all. The trouble is they can't sedate me and shoving what resembles a garden hose down my throat when the most I can manage with my condition is a cookie now and then is no mean feat.
I swear the whole team has lessons in niceness and then they change to Atilla the Hun as soon as the tube enters your gob. I hear the same cry every time, ""Keep still". Yeah, right, try it yourself dear! Then there's the, "Soon it will all be over with". Well! get on with it instead of discussing what they did over the weekend.
At least I'll be able to drive home afterwards instead of sticking around in a draughty ward with nothing more than a sore throat and thin blanket.
I thought my trauma with hospitals was over. They think I may have some residue, whatever that means, from the numerous bouts of surgery I had -- does this mean they are thinking of performing more? I sincerely hope not! I've had my fill of lying in a hospital bed being prodded with needles and, who knows what from who knows who? I guess I've been there and done that so many times and if it was a script I'd be well rehearsed. I don't even want to remember any slightest incident of my hospital nightmare as it turned out, I just want to be left alone.
So what do I do if they find this residue thingy? Do I go along with the inevitable or do I hold up my hand with a resounding No! So many decisions and so many options, I don't know if I'm coming or going. One thing is certain, I ain't the placid easy going person of two years ago and I've learned to respect my body a little bit more than I did. When I say no, pal, I mean NO!
I have something I always dreamt of having in my twentys -- a figure! Pity I got it in my forties when everything needs to be covered and all going south. Still, I can wear my daughter's clothes and fit through a turnstile without turning sideways. I can squeeze into knee high boots, but would never think of wearing them! And so many other possibilities.
Learning to live with a chronic illness is a challenge but we get through each day a little at a time and life ain't so bad after all -- it's what you make it-- but I still don't want to go for an endoscope test tomorrow!