I’ve been dealing with on-again-off-again stomach pain since high school. Not possessing any sort of doctorate in any area of medical or psychological study, my self-diagnosis has always been that this is how my stress manifests itself. Some people get headaches, some people get back pain, and I get stomach aches. Slow-burning, gnawing, intense stomach pains that do not go away when warmth or pressure is applied, with the addition of food or through forced hunger, if Maalox is swigged or Xanax are popped. There is no presence of vomitus or feces. It is, for all intents and purposes, a fucking horrible, soul-crushing experience to be in this world of pain without any hope of finding the path to wellness.
About six months ago the pain returned. It started recurring in some weird monthly cycle, like a sickening male menstruation or something. I would awaken in the middle of the night with the pain and be unable to return to sleep. It came like clockwork, every 28 or 30 days. I went to see a gastroenterologist. He recommended some medication. He said it sounded like acid reflux. Wouldn’t you know it, for a few months things were fine. Then in April I had a pretty bad episode. I went back to the doctor. He upped the prescription and that worked until two weeks ago. Another bad night and he recommended an upper GI endoscopy. I thought that would be a good idea in that it would clear up if there was anything bad going on inside my body, but a bad idea because I don’t particularly like partaking in medical procedures.
Today was the big day. I woke up early, had Tom drive me to the surgical center, and sat alone in the waiting room, wondering what the experience would be like. The procedure was supposed to begin at 10am. At about 9:30 I was brought into the pre-op area, stripped, given an IV with a saline drip, and told to relax. A team of nurses checked my vital signs and I chatted with one of them for a few minutes about music. They offered me a magazine to read while I waited. At 10:15 I was told that I was next in-line for the operating room. At 10:45 I rang the little nurse buzzer because I needed to pee. I’d been debating whether or not to say something for about 15 minutes before I gave in. I figured it was better to pee beforehand, because who knows what would happen when I was sedated, you know? Apparently the entire IV bag had drained, and that’s why I suddenly felt the urge to go. So I got another bag and maybe ten minutes later I was wheeled into the operating room.
Once inside the room, my doctor told me what he was going to do. I’d be sedated, there would be a tube about as wide as a pinky finger inserted into my mouth, snaked down my esophagus in order to check the stomach and duodenum. He’d peek around to see if there were signs of erosion (which could be due to reflux, and may be a precursor to an ulcer). He would take a sample from the duodenum and stomach for biopsy to see if I have cancer or something. The whole thing wouldn’t take more than five or ten minutes.
The nurse informed me that she was going to add the sedative to my IV, and asked if I’d ever been sedated before. I mentioned having general anesthesia, and she told me that this was more like nitrous oxide than being put to sleep. I mentioned that the last time I had nitrous oxide was at a dentist’s office, and in between being awake and asleep I saw myself a micro-miniature version of myself watching the surgery from my forehead. Then a gust of wind blew me off my own forehead, and I had to find my way back to my mom in the waiting room. It was super far out. Everyone laughed. That’s the last thing I remember. I woke up in recovery no more than an hour later.
The nurse informed me what the results of the endoscopy were, but I was still a little bit out of it so I had her repeat it two or three times, then asked if I could hear it from the doctor. I had about fifteen minutes to recalibrate myself, to regain my grasp on reality, and then the doc arrived to tell me what was up. He said everything went fine and he didn’t find anything bad wrong with me. He mentioned that my “z line” was irregular, but within the normal variance. It’s been almost twelve hours and I’ve been searching Google all day trying to figure out exactly what that means. I still have no idea. He also found some “inlet patches” on my proximal esophagus. This is a “mucosal abnormality” but he didn’t seem concerned about it. He wasn’t concerned about the results of the biopsy either. The diagnoses, at least according to the report, are gastritis and a normal small bowel examination. Like I said way back in the first paragraph, it’s most likely stress related. Here’s a picture of my insides:
I decided to go against the doctor’s orders and return to work right after the procedure. I’m paid by the hour so missing a day of work severely affects my paycheck. Maybe that’s why I’m stressed? Anyway, I don’t even remember the drive to work (I wasn’t supposed to be driving) and everyone there said I seemed “off,” and that I didn’t look good. Afterward I went to Nicci’s. She played the role of caring girlfriend well. She made me some pasta and let me sleep for an hour. I now realize that the reason I was not myself at work and tired when I got home was because the largest dose of medicine I received during the procedure was Fentanyl. That shit’s about 100 times more powerful than morphine! No wonder I don’t remember anything. No wonder I was “off” all day.
Twelve hours later I’m doing alright. There’s a tiny bit of soreness in my throat, but they forced a fucking tube down there less than a day ago so I’m sure that’s normal. It’ll be nice to have the next two days off from work so I can relax. I need to take it easy…you know, for all you sinners. Sorry, The Big Lebowski is on and I’m barely paying attention to either this blog entry or the movie. I’ll be back tomorrow. “Catch you later on down the trail…”
August 25th, 2010
Well, sounds like you had quite an experience……I’d like to relate my story to you if I could. I’ll skip the boring stuff and jump right to the relevant:
I had quite similar symptoms (and my own stress diagnosis as well) with the exception that the burning, shredding, death-defying pain seemed to go on forever (I also procrastinated maybe a year longer than I should have to see a doctor) & it always felt like I was harboring a deformed fetus or some absorbed twin in my gut. I thought that maybe when I was small I ate some sort of rock that over the years had gradually grown by picking up bits of eaten matter….anyway – the fun part comes with The Procedure.
Keep in mind that I probably should have demanded a new doctor when the language barrier turned a simple question (How mong have you been haivng this problem? Answer: About a year and a half, but actively for the last 6 months.) into a demented version of “Who’s on first?” (Doc: Ok, 3 weeks then. Me: No, 6 months. Doc: 3 weeks? Me with universal hand numbers: Noooooo, 6 months.) It should come as no surprise that this procedure did not have a pleasant outcome.
Next, I’m in operating room (if that’s what you want to call it – having had a “real” surgery the following year, the previous OR seemed more like some hidden away back abortion room at a free clinic but that Kaiser for you) and the nice Nurse begins to go over the sedation with me. I told her that I have the same tolerance for drugs that my mom has – pretend that you’re trying to kill a horse and that’s how much you will need to give me (which was tested in the subsequent surgery where they almost overdosed me). The nurse seemed to understand and increased the dosage – she also said that before the procedure would begin both she and the doctor would check in on me to see if the meds had kicked in or if there were enough meds. There weren’t.
After sitting there for 10-20 minutes, I felt nothing. Not the good kind of nothing where you can’t feel your face or you think you are floating – this was the kind of nothing comparable to learning that a co-worker who works a different shift than you that you are not even really familiar or friendly with recently had their pet goldfish die. I felt like I had just had a tall glass of water. Then in comes the doctor sans nice drug wielding nurse. No formalities or pleasantries were exchanged – he just asked me to roll onto my side, open my mouth and swallow (perfect time for some sort of sexual reference).
Like a good trusting sheep, I did just that only to be violated with camera/tube inserted into my throat. I gagged and choked. My eyes watered and I fought my hardest not to move around while I was being prodded. It didn’t seem to last that long, maybe only a minute or two. I was then told to go lie down in the recovery room, that I would probably pass out or go to sleep for a little while do to the sedative. I was not told what the results of the procedure were. I went to the recovery room (where they let my girlfriend come hang out with me, but after about 20 minutes and feeling no change in my mental state I chose to go home. Consequently, about 4 hours later while doing some work in my backyard, I started to feel really lighted headed. I began making my way to my bed as things started to lose focus around me, I passed out and woke up about 8 hours later.
The results of this horrific ordeal – the butcher said that I have an ulcer (which required the same medication that I was already taking for the perceived ulcer that the GP thought it was before I had the endoscopy). I have not been back to see either of those two doctors (since the GP that recommended me to the Gastric Butcher must have known and taken some sick perverse pleasure in sending me to a known madman). I still question the presence of a true ulcer, maybe because they gave me medicine for something that they had no proof that I had, maybe because I lacked trust in the findings of a professional Sadist, who knows. What I do know is this: it’s better to have the doctor shove a tube up your ass than down your throat, at least when they go up your ass they are a bit more sensitive to your emotional and physical needs AND/OR make sure that you speak the same language as the person about to violate you.
August 25th, 2010
this is exactly what i was hoping to coax out of readers by sharing my story. thank you dylan. did the medication work? is the “ulcer” gone for good?
August 25th, 2010
Well……..I’m not the best at taking medicine. I was a bit dismayed at the fact that the medicine they prescribed (Omeprazole – a generic Prilosec) was done so before even taking any tests to see if I actually had an ulcer or to see if this medicine would even help. That being said, I still took the medicine for about a year – and during that year, I didn’t really feel any noticeable difference (or, at least whatever relief I got from the medicine was minor). Eventually, I just quit taking the medicine – I didn’t like the fact that the doctors’ resolution was “just take this medicine for the rest of your life”, it doesn’t seem like a good solution.
I still have problems with the “ulcer” but only when I’m not taking care of myself. That is to say that I began to very carefully watch my diet. I had to cut out (almost completely) all of the spicy foods and 75% of my citrus (I had a gallon-a-day grapefruit juice habit but I’ve been clean for about 2 years now). Alcohol also greatly affects the “ulcer” – beer is fine, but anything stronger than 8% (wine, liquor, malt) and I’m in a world of hurt for a day or two. So, while I can’t say that the “ulcer” is gone for good or that the medicine “worked”, I can say that I have gained control of the ulcer – it is managable with a little discipline.
August 25th, 2010
Hope your feeling better lil buddy. Want me to send some percs or somas? hahaha
August 26th, 2010
i’d look into the effects of daily soda+whiskey intake on stomach lining health, esp when compounded by part-time manorexia.
August 26th, 2010
Dylan, your message has filled me with fear. I’m what they call “averse to change.” And by that I mean I can’t cope with it. At all.
MikeM, now that I’ve had a taste of the sweet, sleepy-making narcotic Fentanyl, I’m not sure Soma is going to help. Maybe if I go into back spasms or something. You know, kids stuff. I’ve got Percs in supply but they don’t do much for me anymore. Maybe all the APAP is to blame for the wear and tear on my stomach? I don’t know, you tell me, you’re the pharmacist.
im, you have a point, although it probably doesn’t help I have stressed out about every aspect of my life for the past decade. All these things add up over time.
August 27th, 2010
I’ve experienced similar things in the past, and when I finally went to the doctor he decided I had severe acid reflux. I used to spring up out of bed in the middle of the night feeling like I was going to throw up but there was nothing to throw up – this was apparently the acid going where it wasn’t welcome. He prescribed me medication and ever since taking it that stopped. Of course, he had to terrify me by mentioning that in some cases untreated acid reflux causes a deterioration of the esophageal tissue and can cause throat cancer! I gather that’s kind of unusual but he felt compelled to tell me anyway. Thanks Doc!
August 27th, 2010
Yeah, I had the Gastric Butcher too!! We sedative-adverse people *always* get the fucking sadists.
Mine turned out to be a dying gallbladder :( But once that silly thing was removed (a whole other debacle) I was fine, eating whatever the hell I wanted and all that, afterward.
Good luck! Try cutting down on the hard liquor and getting some exercise, maybe a little sunlight? xo
September 13th, 2010
I have to go in and have a gastro something im not really sure what its called but im pretty sure this is it and the other one with the tube going the ……other end and im 12 years old
im not really sure if they are going to put me to sleep but i really hope thay do because i am really scared about it