Down the hatch

The first time Gina bought me dinner did not go well. We went to Outback Steakhouse, our favorite restaurant, and I had the usual sirloin special, which promptly got stuck in my throat. I’d had a couple isolated incidents of gagging on food before, but this was worse than any of those. I ducked into the restroom. I’ll spare you what happened there. Suffice it to say it was not pleasant.

I returned to the table and tried my best to finish the rest of the meal. It was a special occasion that I didn’t want to spoil. But a few hunks of meat later I was back in the men’s room.

It was hard to play off two emergency trips within the span of ten minutes, so I told Gina what happened. We left Outback with my steak half eaten. A few blocks away I had to pull over. I was feeling worse than ever. I opened my door and in what I thought was quite a considerate moment, said “I don’t want to gross you out, babe, but BLARGHHHHHH.”

At which point I grossed Gina out.

That was five years ago, and I ended up getting a throat scope that revealed I had acid reflux. The reason it felt like I was getting food stuck in my throat was because I literally was. My throat was scarred so badly that it had to be blown up with a balloon in what I called a throatoplasty. Afterwards I was put on medication to reduce the acid in my stomach. The thought was if acid splashed up my throat, at least it would be diluted.

In the five years since I was feeling better and started to slack on my meds. Then sure enough we had steak recently and the old feeling returned.

So yesterday it was time for another endoscopy. Having had one before, I wasn’t as nervous as the first time around. For one thing, I didn’t opt to watch the “informational” video, which back then was still from the 80’s and showed a throat scope the size of a gutter. I laid on the gurney freaking out, thinking “how’s that going down my throat?” only to be wheeled in the surgical room to see the actual scopes were much thinner.

For anyone who’s facing an endoscope, I’d recommend the procedure. My throat wasn’t sore either time, and though I was conscious for both procedures I don’t remember a thing. They administer an IV of “joy juice,” which has amnesiatic properties. You’re aware what’s happening every moment but forget it the next second. They could have taken my wallet and car keys for all I knew or cared.

The verdict this time was that I had a mild blockage in my throat. I guess it’s time to behave myself.

But I’m not giving up my steak.