Oh My Stars

So, I had my appointment with the fancy-shmancy NoCo ENT this morning. And it all went very well, except for the part where I swooned and blacked-out a teeny bit for an hour. That part was less than successful.

Apparently, I had a "vasovagal episode" while she had her little camera up my nose. I know that sounds vaguely vaginal, but it's not. It's like fainting. One minute I was thinking "I don't really care for this tube being all up in my brain" and doing surprisingly painful things like "saying the letter E." The next minute, everything went black and I heard myself say, as if from a great distance, "I don't feel so well..." and suddenly someone slammed my chair backwards and down, a bright line shined in my eyes, an ice pack dropped onto my forehead, and I heard the "scriiiitch" of a blood pressure cuff as it wrapped around my arm.

The doctor and her nurse told me not to worry, and to think nice thoughts, but I could hear myself making plaintive little noises, like I was about to cry but couldn't quite get there. I was scared. Nurse Jill massaged my arms, and I realized that both my hands were completely numb and my arms were tingling. I couldn't catch my breath, and my stomach hurt really bad--possibly from the poisonous-tasting stuff she had squirted up my nose before the scope followed. (I guess it's supposed to numb you.) I mumbled "I'm such a drama queen!" and felt really embarrassed.

Jill started telling me about a "huge dude" they'd had in recently who jumped out of the chair afterward, only to hit the ground like a sack of potatoes seconds later. "And this guy was totally unconscious, and NOT BREATHING." She told me she started yelling "Holy @#$%, he's dead!" and was it my imagination, or did she sound a little disappointed when he turned out not to be? At any rate, I felt a bit better about my own display--at least I had stayed in the chair.

She tried to hoist me up about 10 minutes later, but I got all swoony, so back down I went. Doc came back in and asked me if I'd eaten anything today, and I murmured "An English muffin," which for some reason sounded really stupid to me. When I finally sat up, Jill had brought me an apple juice box (which made me feel like Jarrah) and a bite-sized chunk of bagel (why only a chunk? They didn't want to add any yakking to the morning's festivities?) "Here," said Jill. "I hate apple juice. Disgusting. But drink it anyway." Weirdly, her particular brand of bedside manner worked for me, as I ended up laughing weakly and not thinking about my delicate sensibilities. (Earlier, when I was of sound mind, she had regaled me with stories about the Australian horse-racing circuit, where the jockeys "all drink and smoke and @#$%, and the horses have names like @#$%& and &*%$" and I was all like "WHAT?")

When I was able to sit up entirely, Doc came back and walked me through the National Geographic special inside my nose, which was actually kind of cool, especially since it looked pretty normal to me (and her, which is what counts.) No polyps (ick), no deviated septum, no disgusting litany of symptoms that might indicate an infection. Now I need more tests on my sinuses and allergies before she can diagnose me, but I'm actually quite surprised I don't share my dad's nasal passages. I have always believed that was his special legacy to me. Also, right before Jill squirted the poison into my nostrils, she commented "Damn, you have a fine-looking nose. The kind someone might ask for if they were getting a nose job." "Mmm-hmmm." I smiled. "I've always thought my nose was pretty nice...on the OUTSIDE."

David told me that what happened has something to do with tigers or bears, when they try to eat you--it's better to have a lot of blood and oxygen near your heart, where it can keep you alive, rather than serving no purpose in your head, hands and feet. And I Wiki'd "vasovagal episode" when I got home, discovering that there many reasons they happen, including "pressing on the sinuses, throat or eyes." I'm guessing that's what happened, because while one of the other options was "stressful medical procedure" my Readers can't imagine the sheer glut of stressful medical procedures I've endured in the past five years, most of them unsedated, and while I sobbed and screamed a few choice epiphets and may have tried to kill a medical professional or two, I never felt the least bit faint.

Which is good, because I'd like to believe this episode was out of my control. I wouldn't want anyone to think that I'm losing my edge.