G is for Gastroscopy

A couple of years ago I was diagnosed with NAFLD, or Non Alcoholic Fatty Liver Disease, to give its full name. Or, to put it another way,  Cirrhosis of the liver.

Over the last couple of years, I have been prodded and poked as part of the monitoring process. As  yet, I am not on any medication, but I do get regular lectures about my diet and my lack of exercise.

My Hepatology consultant has wanted to carry out biopsies to prove her diagnosis, but I have resisted. I really don’t fancy the idea of someone pushing a needle into my side.So far she has had to make do with me having regular Fibroscans, blood tests and the occasional gastroscopy.

And so it was, last Tuesday, after two years had elapsed, it was decided that it was time for me to undergo another gastroscopy.

I vaguely recalled that the previous procedure wasn’t actually as unpleasant as everyone had told me. So, when I presented myself at reception in the Queen Alexandra Hospital Endoscopy Department, I was fairly relaxed.

On arrival, I was asked to complete a two page questionnaire regarding my medical history. Given the number of times that I have provided this information, over the last  few weeks, I question the need.

After all, my height and weight are still unchanged, I  still wear glasses, and no, I still don’t have any metalwork inside my body. The drugs I take on a daily basis are also unchanged. You would think, in this technological age, that they could print out my record and get me to confirm that nothing had changed. It would save bit of time.

Anyhow, questionnaire duly completed, it was time for me to head round to where the procedure was due to be carried out. I followed the nurse, like a dutiful hound called to heel. But first, we made a detour into a small office space where the nurse talked me through the questionnaire and I pretty much had to answer all the questions….. Again!!! We could have done the form filling and verbal confirmation all at one go. The only difference was that the nurse decided that I needed to provide a blood sample for my blood sugar,

Oh and I had to sign a consent form and in return I was given a standard hospital bracelet.

And then we walked round to the theatre. Where, once again, I was interrogated. Name, rank, serial number.

Then it was down to business. Sit on the table. Lay back. Open your mouth and hold your breath while we spray this stuff, Xylocaine, to the back of your throat. I had been warned that the spray tasted of rotten bananas. Perhaps not quite that bad, but more like overripe bananas. The spray is required to reduce/stop the natural gag reflex when the endoscope is inserted.

As requested, I rolled over on to my left side. And then the doctor was there with endoscope in hand.

He suggested that I might want to close my eyes as he began his hunt for varices.

But I didn’t want to miss the tv show. Unlike two years ago, I had a screen to look at. Full HD, I reckon. So I watched as the camera began its journey down my throat. The doctor was giving a full running commentary as the camera travelled down. It’s a bit like a train journey where the name of the next destination is announced.

Soon we were in my stomach which, much to my surprise, was empty apart from some fluids. In my head I envisaged the doctor, wearing a miners head lamp and wellies, sploshing around in my gastric juices. Strangely, I could feel the endoscope moving moving under my hand, which was laying on my belly, as the doctor had a good look around. So the gastric train reached the terminus and then began the return journey. Like any good tourist, the doctor paused the extraction to take a couple of photos.

And then we were done. Endoscope extracted and the doctor was saying that all was clear. In medispeak “No endoscopic signs of portal hypertension”, no varices.

After a few minutes I was taken to a discharge waiting room while the doctor was writing up his report. A nurse appeared and presented me with an “After gastroscopy care leaflet” Nothing to eat or drink for an hour. This is to allow the effects of the throat anaesthetic to wear off. Too soon and I could choke. After an hour, just small sips of water and if OK gently increase intake back to normal.

I was also given a copy of the doctors report and informed that I would be called in for a repeat performance in three years. And so I was formally discharged and allowed to go home.

Obviously I am very pleased that nothing sinister was seen and perhaps slightly less pleased at the thought of doing this again. But I am glad that they are continuing to monitor for the adverse symptoms of NAFLD.