So . . . Not an Ulcer
The upper GI endoscopy yesterday didn’t show evidence of ulcers, and apparently I’m negative for Helicobacter pylori, so apparently that’s not it. Hmm. The gastroenterologist wants to do either a CAT scan or ultrasound next — he had mentioned it might be my gallbladder. Not sure about that, but maybe. He also said that a couple of areas of my stomach showed ribbing that was a marker for Crohn’s disease in people with Irish ancestry, but he seemed to think that was a long shot.
(The GI guy has a tendency to shoot apparently off-topic questions at me out of nowhere: I was in the recovery room and kind of dozy, talking about my interior bits, and suddenly he started questioning me about my ancestry. Somewhat perplexing; it might help if he’d explain the reason for the question early on, but whatever. Oddly enough, when I replied, “General British ancestry,” he initially didn’t think that included Ireland, even Northern Ireland. Perhaps I should’ve been clearer and spoken geographically rather than politically, and said “All over the British Isles,” but I plead dopiness from the sedatives.)
Anyway, just because it’s been a while since I’ve posted a photograph, here are the stills from the procedure. You can see the ribbing in the left upper and right lower corner shots; click to embiggen, if you’re into that sort of thing. Anyone know any doctors or med students? Maybe we could play Snapshot Diagnosis; first one to pick the disorder that matches any eventual real-life diagnosis gets a pair of hand-knit wool-free socks. Anyone?
In the meantime, at least I’m doing okay. Occasionally my stomach kind of gently nudges me, as if to remind me that it holds the power of life and death, or at least productivity and lying in a limp puddle on the floor, over me, but no real pain, and only minimal nausea. It’s been a week of significant savings on the food front, as well as on the coffee beans and wine fronts, given that I’ve avoided all three pleasant occupations as much as possible through abject, cringing fear of pain — today I’m having my first cup of coffee in over a week, and am equally thrilled with the caffeine and the lack (so far) of negative consequences. Oh, coffee, how I’ve missed you. My appetite is even coming back a little, too, which is a pleasant surprise. I’ll probably hold off on reintroducing the wine for a while longer, because the thought still makes my stomach clench a little with worry.
Little knitting has been accomplished, because for a while there the very thought of yarn somehow made me queasy. (This makes no sense, but I chose not to argue with the body and its peculiar tantrums.) At least yesterday, after Cindy very kindly took me home and I crashed for a couple of hours, I got about 10 rows done on my sweater; I’m about to start the French cable for the waistline. There’s no bloody way I’ll get it finished before the meeting next week, which was my original deadline, but at least some progress has been made.
So, aside from the grisly photos of my interior, not a whole lot to report. I was hoping to have a firm diagnosis by now, but I’ll take what I can get: at least I’m functional, and doing reasonably well, and don’t apparently have anything obvious and life-threatening. It could be a helluva lot worse.
