I just ate a spoonful of vanilla ice cream. I am scooping dessert for One and Four, and I am carefully planning how much I can shove in my mouth before midnight. Because after that, I'm NPO until 11:30 a.m. tomorrow. That's medi-jargon for "nothing by mouth," a.k.a. "fasting." Yes, dear readers, it's medical procedure time.
When I was done spending my Easter Sunday with the kind folks at St. Clare's Emergency Room, they handed me a bunch of discharge papers, including the name of a gastro-enterologist. Even after having an ultra-sound and a CAT scan, they couldn't find anything remarkably wrong with me. So, they referred me to a specialist. Amazingly, I followed their instructions! I met Dr. Barbarito the following week, and told him he was going to have to scope me.
Because he is an actual medical professional, he asked questions about my latest attack, took a medical history, and agreed with my assessment. He would have to scope me. So, tomorrow at 10:30 I am scheduled to have a camera snake its way through my upper G.I. tract, so we can have a look-see at what caused me such distress.
I am totally ready for the procedure. I absolutely cannot go through an attack like that again. I don't have the time. I want that camera to worm it's way down and bump right up against something that can be surgically removed, thus instantly curing me. I will be psyched if it is a twenty pound ball of fat, that once excised, will halt the paralyzing pain, and make me instantly more svelte. Fingers crossed!
Now, I must go eat some more. Midnight is fast approaching.