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I’ll be off the radio grid completely tomorrow (Tuesday morning) as have my followup Endoscopy, where they knock you out and send the camera-thingy down to see how things are. This after a bleeding ulcer was discovered in May. While it is slightly nerve-wracking, I must say I’m grateful I live in a time when we have the science to do this. While sending the camera down they take a look at the throat and the esophagus and that whole area (I think last time they saw a sign that said, “Warning: Won’t Shut Up,” or something), and then down into the stomach.

They should be grateful that they’re not doing this while I was on the Nexium, prescribed to help heal the ulcer. All they’d see in there would be pie. Of all the side-effects (including blowing up like a puffer fish) I had one craving, and one craving for food only–Coconut Cream Pie. It’s not like I wanted, oh, meatloaf and coconut cream pie. Or prime rib and coconut cream pie. Nope, just the pie. It was a good thing though. We had spent months and months listening to Urkel talk about pie this, pie that, so I had gotten to resent pie itself. Yet, it’s not pie’s fault the Dumb Bastard likes it. I mean, really, what’s not to like? It’s pie.

So I decided to make peace with pie and indulged the craving. I gained 5 pounds while on Nexium. I’m blaming it, of course, on George W. Bush, er, Coconut W. Pie.

Then, my two months with Nexium were over (sorta like dating a dancer 15 years younger than you–nice at first, you have to get used to it, then it keeps going but doesn’t quite feel right, but you don’t end it because it has its nice, er, moments, and then you start feeling weird, and it’s just not right, you know it has to end, and by about two months you want it to be over and then it is). What?

Anyway, I am writing this because I’m now at the time when I’m not allowed to eat anything until the procedure which will be at 830am PT tomorrow. I normally don’t eat anything past 7-8pm anyway, but as you might imagine, I don’t do well with those things called “rules.” I will comply, however, if only for having seen the Newman/Rampling film “The Verdict” where the story revolves around a woman who was in a coma forever because surgery was done way too soon after she ate. I won’t go into details except…let’s just say you don’t want any food in your tummy for the anesthesia because it won’t stay there. The food, that is. To say nothing of the fact that they need to see the lining of my tummy to see how the ulcer is healing.
And that’s the whole point of my being off the grid tomorrow–they discovered the bleeding ulcer on May 18, two months of Nexium, a change in diet, adding yoga and trying out that new invention called “relaxing” I go in for the follow-up Look-See. Yoga I like, but still laugh when the “Ohmmmmm”-ing starts up. Let me just say, for a bunch of relaxed yoga hippies who are suppose to believe in peace and love they sure can throw a angry stare at a chick! Laughing relaxes me, what can I say? I was once inadvertently rude when one of the hippies came in wearing a Jane Fonda mugshot t-shirt. I, completely absent-mindedly, pointed and laughed. Let’s just say we did the yoga thing on opposite sides of the room.

So, no more food or anything. Have a friend driving me in. When we get there I’ll go into a room put on the no-backside robe, put my hair in a net-thing, and little booty-things over my hush-puppies. It will be Me at My Most Attractive. I’ll go into the surgery-room, the anesthesiologist will ask me a few questions, they’ll put a needle in my little arm, I’ll ask if I should be feeling sleeeepy…

I will then wake up on a gurney in another room the procedure completed, saying, “Wha…..?? Whooooooo?? Hey, uhhh…Huh?” Last time the orderly came up and said, “Hi Tammy! You have an ulcer. The doctor will be right over.” This time? Hopefully he’ll say “Hi Tammy! Your ulcer is healing nicely! Have a nice day.” And my friend will drive me home.

Send good vibes everyone. I’ll tweet/blog when I’m out of LaLaLand and can report in 😉 Maybe afterward I’ll take some time off and go to Spain and spend about $100,000 a day of someone else’s money. Nah…that would be just way too…crazy. Hey, wait a minute…