The Dumbest Thing I Have Ever Done
by A
J BURTON
Would you
volunteer to be water boarded? Or listen to all the works of
Shakespeare in Swahili? Probably not, only an idiot would want
to do that, right?
Well say
hello to an idiot. The man afflicted with the 'mostly'
suppressed macho gene.
A few
months ago I had an appointment with the medical super clinic in
Manukau City. Manukau City is part of Auckland City in the North
Island of New Zealand. Yes a city within a city. Don’t ask me why,
it’s the bureaucrats’ idea.
I was
scheduled to have a gastroscopy to check that my reflux wasn’t
caused by anything sinister. In case you don’t know gastroscopy is
a procedure where a long tube with a camera at the end (endoscope –
image above) is slid down your throat and finally into your stomach.
The clinic
told me to arrive early and not to have eaten anything the night
before, or that morning. The super clinic performs minor operations
where I don’t have to stay overnight after I come out of the
operating theatre. I would receive some aftercare to make sure there
are no complications from the anesthesia drugs. I also needed a
driver as you are not allowed to drive for 12 hours after the
gastroscopy.
After
giving my appointment letter to the receptionist I sat waiting my
turn amongst dozens of other patients. I was struck by the amount of
older persons awaiting operations. It was like staring through a
looking glass to the future. I tried to tell myself, you are still
relatively young but a small voice in my head kept reminding me I was
now sixty. Old age and senility is just a few twists and turns away.
By the
time my name was called I was somewhat depressed. I took my form to a
consulting room where the operation was to take place. There I met
the doctor, a middle aged man with expensive shoes and an attractive
brunette nurse looking smart in her uniform.
The doctor
explained I wouldn’t be completely unconscious but would receive
enough drugs to keep me in a semi state of consciousness. Then for a
reason I can still to this day never explain, the not very repressed
macho gene insisted I ask this question.
“So
doctor, do you have to be put under to have this procedure?”
His face
lit up. In retrospect his mind must have been calculating how much
extra time he was going to get on the golf course that afternoon.
“Why
yes, some people have been known to be able to endure this procedure
without any anesthesia at all. Plus they can be released straight
after the procedure. You can drive yourself home.” The macho gene
which had now morphed into the idiot gene informed me that I was one
of those braver than brave heroes who don't need any sedation to have
a long tube rammed down their throat.
“We can
try it if you like. You can always change your mind. Nurse let’s
get ready. Sign here Mr. Burton. Sit in the chair. It is a very safe
operation, I have done hundreds.” He was probably thinking 'This
will make a good story on the 19th hole this afternoon.'
Before you
could say Geneva Convention I was in the chair. The smiling nurse or
was she laughing? Placed a mouthpiece in my mouth.
“This
will protect your teeth.” With the other hand she produced a long
black tube with a tiny bulb arrangement in the end.
I had this
dreadful feeling they were going to hammer the camera tube down my
throat. I had some sort of numbing liquid sprayed into my throat. Now
was the time the Doctor should have said.
“Ha-ha
of course we are now going to give you a sedative to help you through
this. Only an imbecile would want to endure this without one.” Or
even. “Now you are absolutely sure about this Mr. Burton? There is
still time to put the drip in your arm.”
But
instead the nurse leaned over and whispered. “Here it comes, you
will experience a gagging reflex. Try and work your way through it.”
I can’t
remember which one of them started stuffing what felt like a garden
hose down my throat. I had the mother of all gagging reflexes. I went
from hero to zero in a heartbeat. I tried to tell them.
“This is
a mistake. I am choking to death. Let’s start over again and I'll
have a shed full of sedative please.” But all that came out was.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!” I remember telling whoever would listen
“Take this f*&^%king thing out of my throat I want drugs!”
But again all that came out was. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhh.”
“You are
doing well Mr. Burton. Only another meter and we will be there. Look!
You can see the camera pictures now. How do you feel?”
“How the
hell do you think I feel? You stupid woman. I’m choking to death
here.” But in reality all she got was another
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh” In fact my entire conversation
consisted of “Aaaaaaaaaaarh,” and similar such gagging noises
because you cannot talk with a huge tube in your throat.
“Nearly
there, Mr Burton. Just going into the stomach now. Look at the
screen.” The doctor somehow expected me to want a guided tour?
“Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhh,
uuuuuuuuurgh aaaaaghh.” Translation: You look at the bloody screen
you evil bastard. I just want that thing out, right now!”
“You are
doing marvelously Mr. Burton,” joined in the nurse “You still
ok?”
“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrggh.”
- “No, I am not you brainless woman. I am choking to
death; I can’t seem to breathe and my heart's going like the
clappers.”
“Good.”
she said sweetly, “Hang in there. Not long to go.”
“Hello
here’s something?” The doctor announced cheerfully. “I'll just
rotate the camera a minute. A bit of discomfort coming.”
“AUuuuuuuuUUUUUAHOOOuuuuuuurgh.”
A bit of discomfort? You have to be joking - it feels like you
have a front end loader excavating my interior.
“All
good, nothing to worry about. Pulling out in a second.”
He peered at the screen manipulating the controls. The second
seemed to last minutes as I gagged, sweated and gripped the chair,
hoping I might faint.
“Coming
out now.”
“Aaaaaaaaagh.”
Thank God for that - I thought you were going to want a retake.
“There
now. You are really brave to do that without a sedative Mr
Burton. How do you feel?” The nurse patted me on the shoulder.
I should
have said. “I feel like a fool, if I had even the faintest idea how
bad that was going to be without a sedative I would have demanded
seven of them.” Instead the idiot macho gene kicked in again and in
a raspy voice I croaked.
“Thanks,
can I leave now?” I almost ran
out of the building in case they wanted a re-shoot.
The moral
of this story if there is one, is that when you are offered a
sedative for even what seems like a minor procedure there is probably
a very good reason why one is offered.
For
men only: If you are having a minor operation and the attending nurse
is attractive, she may activate the idiot, macho gene. I suggest
closing your eyes and imagining that she has a row of black rotting
teeth. Her breath smells like the inside of a bachelor's fridge and
she has a mole the size of a horse’s eyeball on her chin with three
long black hairs growing out of it.
I drove
home with only a sore throat. When my wife arrived home later that
day (she is the practice manager for a medical centre) I told her
what I had done.
She didn’t
think I was brave at all, like the nurse did, but she did say.
“You
bloody idiot. Next time I’ll send you with a note.”
It’s so
hard to be a hero sometimes.
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
