Inflexible

Without wishing to spoil the ending, I must state at the outset that my recent endoscopy was quite possibly the single most hideous physical experience of my life. The actual procedure only took a few minutes, but as always there was plenty of waiting around before and after (as is standard with the NHS). I was aware that prior to the procedure (which they were at pains to stress is one of the simplest medical procedures around) there was the option of being sedated. I need hardly add that I would ordinarily leap at the chance for a free shot of tranquilliser, but they only give it if you have a 'responsible adult' to collect you, as it doesn't fully wear off for 24 hours (pah, even when temazied-up I am more responsible than most adults I know). Sadly I had only booked the morning off work, and as it was the first working day of 2008 I didn't want to roll in high on jellies. With hindsight it is always wise to dampen the nerves with a tranquilliser when facing all the jovial small talk and insincere expressions of interest in our festive experiences that inevitably assail us on a first day back.

Noting to myself that it was not and never would be my new year's resolution to cut down on drugs (this was a one and only exception), I bravely opted for the anaesthetic spray in the throat. After all, I thought, they keep telling me how quick and simple it all is, and the tube is but a "thin and flexible" little thing.

Hmm. If I say the anaesthetic spray tasted like sour whisky crossed with mouldy banana, you'll understand how lovely it was. I then had to lie on my side - however by this time I had already seen the 'tube'... It may well be a tiny camera, but the tube it is attached to is like a bloody garden hose - seriously. So I wasn't feeling particularly relaxed when they gave me a mouth-guard to bite on, and fed the tube down my neck. "Keep swallowing, and breathe through your nose," they advised. Well d'uh – I could hardly breathe through anything else. After almost vomiting about four times I was fine, other than the constant sensation of being choked (maybe a turn-on for some gentlemen, but sadly not for me). As an added bonus, they have to pass air into the stomach to inflate it so they can get a better look around – with the result that I was belching like a navvy (which is quite difficult when your throat is being wedged open). They took a biopsy of my stomach lining, as it was looking inflamed (nothing to do with the vat of alcohol consumed over the holidays). The tube was then removed. I was rewarded for being a brave little soldier with a cup of tea and three biscuits (having been expressly forbidden food and drink since midnight), and had to wait to be discharged. Astonishingly for hospital tea, it was actually a nice cuppa (I did specifically request a strong one – you should see the insipid gnat's piss they gave my nan (now finally free from hospital after 3 months…)). Speaking of nans, practically every other patient was about 80, so it was lovely to swap medical stories while waiting to drop dead. Finally I was summoned to discuss my results - everything looked fine, indeed so unexceptional that they didn't even take a photo of my stomach lining to show me (I was hoping to get it all on DVD).

The next day I had to phone to check the initial results: I was advised that the test for bacterial infection was negative (this was the most likely cause of my nausea). There are apparently no signs of anything sinister, so (like everything, it seems) it's all in my mind… Or maybe not. For a week later I had a follow-on appointment with my GP, who cheerily advised that the hospital had written to him to say that my results were positive for a gastric infection. Hmm. I explained that they had said the exact opposite to me; he didn’t seem too surprised at the cock-up. I therefore had to phone the hospital to ask them to re-check. The person I spoke to was particularly unimpressed when I pointed out that they had clearly made a mistake; she merely confirmed that the result was negative, and expected me to leave it at that. They are supposedly going to write to my GP with the correct results, but who knows? You would hope a hospital would take particular care in differentiating between positive and negative results, but maybe I’m just too picky.