I had a procedure done this week. It was kind of uneventful really. I laid on a stretcher for a few hours while listening to all these people talking about the failures of their digestive system while preemptively asking where they could put their false teeth, and hearing the nurse look frantically for a cup.

About an hour later, it was finally my turn. The nurse comments on the smooth and delicate look of my skin, and the irony of how hard she has to push the iv needle into it. Now THAT'S a conversation starter. Hope you don't have a weak stomach- HA! That was why I was there.

Anyway, so, they roll me into this room. I am becoming no stranger to these rooms lately. I've had more medical issues with my body this year than I have had in my entire life. I'm somehow getting used to a cold butt hanging out of a hospital gown and the smell of rubbing alcohol. The nice tech told me to open my mouth and stuck a "mouth piece" in it and secured it with a giant rubber band around my head. I felt like I should be starring in a TOOL video. At this point, they start giving me the happy medicine. For some reason, it felt like a good idea to try to have a conversation. I said, "You probably can't understand what I'm saying." The tech laughed, "No, we can't." So, obviously, she COULD understand me, right? This was my cue to continue..."My boyfriend's daughter Emma has cancer...and she says this is her dizzy medicine." They didn't even bother responding at that point. It sounded like I had a hollow plastic sock in my mouth... whatever that means.

That was the last thing I remember. The next thing I remember is my throat was sore and I told my mom what I was getting her for Christmas. I don't even know how she got there. Fail.

It kind of reminded me of my birthday a few years ago, when I was at a local casino with my best friend and a bartender that had the hots for me (and his girlfriend...talk about awkward). I remember sitting there and having my first drink... and then I remember her pulling over on I-49 so I wouldn't have to have her car steam cleaned the next day. That's a sobering experience. Pun intended.

So, the sum of it was...having an EGD is like experiencing benefits of having the fun...without it being fun. But, is it really a benefit to not remember anything? I guess it depends on the experience. Either way, your throat ends up hurting and you hope there are no incriminating photos. Well, I had photos...which are probably going to lead me to another hospital adventure. But at least I'll have another cool scar to add to my, "I really used to be a pirate" story.

The End.