I've Never Liked Liquorice

A Restless Anticipation

I had a good enough night's rest, setting my wake-up alarm for 7:00 AM in anticipation of my oesophagogastroduodenoscopy procedure. In the end, the main thing that weighed on my mind was whether this apparently simple but unpleasant procedure could lead to complications.

I did not prepare myself for adverse outcomes, instead steeling myself with the inclination that everything would turn out right. I had already expiated my deepest concerns in the blog "Tubing Down the Gullet", which I wrote yesterday.

Setting Off to Hospital

After chatting to Brian, whose words of comfort and support meant a lot to me, I called an Uber to take me to the hospital, and sent a message to my neighbour about what was going on.

Arriving at the endoscopy unit, I was registered by the desk clerk at the reception. I had hardly settled into a comfortable seat before the coordinator of the unit invited me in for a preprocedural assessment, checking my details, gaining my consent, and explaining what the procedure would entail.

Briefed Before the Bed

It would last 7 minutes. You could add "long" or "short" as a qualifier of time; the personnel opted for "short", which was to minimise the conceptual understanding the patient might have of enduring such a long and uncomfortable intrusive activity.

The most important piece of advice was to keep breathing: in through the nose and out through the mouth. I ended up breathing entirely through my mouth, as my nose was slightly blocked when we started.

After that engagement, I was led to another waiting room to wait for the consultant who would conduct the endoscopy.

Meeting the Consultant

The consultant arrived: pleasant, amiable, and professional, doing his best to keep me at ease. After introductions, we walked to the examination room, well-lit and neat, with nurses giving off a warm aura of encouraging mien that could disarm every sense of anxiety.

She took my bag, cane, coat and hat, and had me sit on the bed. I was asked for the third time if I had any allergies. I always respond with "jealousy", something I learnt from the song "Footsteps Following Me" by Frances Nero, which contains the line, "I am allergic to jealousy". It is quite an icebreaker, I think. [Footsteps Following Me (Lyrics) / (YouTube)]

As I was not going to be sedated, I had this foul-tasting numbing spray squirted down my throat and larynx before I lay down on my left side on the bed. A mouth guard was inserted to stop me from biting on the camera tubing.

The Endoscope Goes Down

The endoscope, which I had seen earlier, looked like a generously thick length of liquorice, just a little over 1 cm in diameter from my estimation. It was introduced into my mouth and wound its way into my throat, where I had to swallow to give it access, and then I began to gurgle. My head was held still as I was advised to keep breathing.

I was breathing, but my gag reflex was triggered so many times that I was retching violently, somewhat scared I might aspirate any fluids. The nurse used a suction tube to draw out the fluid, and there were moments I was comfortable just breathing through my mouth before I was retching again, with my body and legs reacting wildly to the inconvenience.

The camera travelled down to the deepest reaches of my duodenum within two minutes, and for thorough examination, the endoscopist had the camera look back on itself, which is called retroflexion. With air being blown in to allow for a better view, all of it was coming back up in the gurgling and retching.

Biopsies and Relief

Towards the end, I was asked if biopsies could be taken. I'd rather suffer this once than have it done again, so I signalled my consent, and a thin red line was channelled into the camera stem for that purpose.

Imagine the relief when the endoscope was finally extracted, only for me to find that despite all the preparation, my top was soiled to the back of my left shoulder. I tried to dry up before being taken to recovery, where I awaited the preliminary findings of the procedure.

Another set of blood pressure, blood oxygen, and temperature measurements was taken, showing my blood pressure had fallen some 20 points between when I arrived and soon after the procedure.

The Findings

The findings indicated a hiatus hernia, suggesting my stomach had moved slightly above the diaphragm. This is apparently common and could be age-related. Further along, there was an incomplete Schatzki ring not causing any significant narrowing. This is a circle of tissue in the lower oesophagus that might make it difficult to swallow food.

These findings might not fully explain the food impaction and choking events, but they might indicate something to be aware of. The nurse in the recovery ward suggested I give more time to chewing and mastication before swallowing.

The histopathology of the biopsies is expected in anything from 6 weeks, scribbled in over the printed two weeks. I also had to wait an hour after the application of the numbing spray before ingesting anything.

Heading Home

Then I was discharged and walked back home to take a long bed rest. While I feel alright, the invasion of my innards was quite a shock to my system, bringing on exhaustion and tiredness.

I could have written this blog in the hospital, but it has taken hours afterwards, using AI to explain all the medical terms that are inscrutable to the layman, and trying to understand everything that happened: the findings, and the possible issues that might result. The premise is that there is nothing to worry about, just knowledge that explains some historical issues.

A Parting Thought

One final thing: I was their first customer, and it looked like 3 others had cancelled their appointments. I was never once addressed as a patient. Was I the bigger fool for attending what others were not ready to endure? I have no answer to that question.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

The many tests of a patient waiting in patience

A Week to Fathom

What a weekend that was, or rather, let us consider the full week, because the thought of all that transpired is hard enough to fathom.

Fresh from the good news of my PSA having fallen to its lowest level, buoying my confidence in the radiotherapy for prostate cancer, I was having chest pains that led to my attending A&E first thing on Monday.

That was one unplanned visit to the hospital. The result was reassuring; it was nothing serious, just musculoskeletal pain that some bed rest could help.

Good News, Then Distress

Friday was the main day scheduled for my biannual monitoring at the Christie Hospital. Going there never ceases to be as impactful as it is critical to saving lives. It is a visit to a renowned cancer hospital to review my PSA result and discuss the attendant issues from radiotherapy.

That went well, so I stopped by Nando's for a meal and used the opportunity to call Brian. Halfway through my meal, after our call had ended, I had a choking episode. I won’t suggest this is a longer-term side effect of radiotherapy, as dysphagia, and I have not considered if it could have exacerbated it; I’ve had choking episodes going back decades.

Thankfully, I had enough napkins to contain the relief in bringing it all back up. Not a beautiful sight, and no one noticed I was in distress either. I cleaned up in the conveniences and returned home to lie down.

Saturday Takes a Turn

Whilst that should have resolved things, as I do usually have episodes of choking on food, this one was different. Some cereal before midnight did not go down, likely due to food impaction, an obstruction, or inflammation in my throat. I threw up in the toilet and decided to postpone my pills for a few hours.

The pills did eventually go down, and I had a lie-in for most of Saturday into the afternoon.

Getting up, I made a cup of tea. I thought I had drunk the full mug, but there was pressure in my throat and quite a bit of discomfort. I had to throw up again.

The tea came up with some mucous-like substance that fell to the bottom of the toilet bowl. That was concerning. I was about to return to A&E for another ailment.

A Night in A&E

Calling an Uber, I made it to the hospital soon enough, though as I alighted, I was sick in the bushes before being triaged. From then on, I was vomiting a thickened, mucous-like substance every thirty minutes or so into a sick bowl.

Just about two hours after arrival, I saw a doctor. She gave me a drink of water, which seemed to stay down. I have not vomited after that. I was then referred for a possible endoscopy and left in the Emergency Room for two hours.

Then another doctor called me in for review. We agreed on an experiment: I would have a sandwich and a drink, and if that stayed down, I was to be discharged for further outpatient review. If I could not keep the food down, it would mean hospital admission, nil by mouth, and a possible endoscopy on Monday to identify the obstruction.

The food stayed down, but it was left waiting for a few hours before I received an email notification; an after-visit message; it was sent 30 minutes earlier. Apparently, I had been discharged, and no one had bothered to inform me. I left the hospital over eight hours after arriving. It was almost 2:00 AM.

The Weight of Being Alone

I appreciate that these matters take time. Anyone attending A&E is busy juggling the precarity of their situation that brought them to the hospital with the need to keep others informed, especially if they are alone in that predicament, and that is just the way it is.

I have every reason to want a better situation, to be in a hospital with someone. Everyone else seemed to have someone with them, but as one person, you are a container of the reflexes of concern, anxiety, or even panic of others about you. You must wonder whether it is necessary to inform anyone during the crisis or only after it has passed.

There is an emotional toll involved in the desire for information and details. I have had calls whilst a doctor's stethoscope was feeling around my body, calls I have had to ignore.

My going to the hospital should be part of accepting that the right decision has been made and that I am in good hands. Not much can be helped beyond everyone holding their nerve, thinking good thoughts, and praying for the best outcomes.

Everything takes time, and the patient patiently waiting for answers and assurances, first for themselves before finding the form of words for dissemination to others who duly need to be informed, is probably the most impacted by it all.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

World Cancer Day 2025

Understanding a cancer diagnosis

For so long, I had viewed my story through the prism of my first encounter with cancer in 2009 and the gratitude with thankfulness for not only having survived but thrived when at the time of diagnosis research studies indicated my kind of situation rarely gave survivors another ten years.

This time last year, my request for a routine blood test began another journey to a new cancer diagnosis, over four months through tests and investigations, I learnt in June by an inadvertent medical disclosure of adenocarcinoma of the prostate.

Choosing and curating the people with whom to navigate the journey through the diagnosis and the treatment of cancer is a strange thing, people generally do not understand cancer and the way you present may not essentially indicate how seriously ill you are. Maybe, experience is the best teacher, if the observer is not self-absorbed. [World Cancer Day: What Is Cancer?]

Living a cancer reality

You take each day as it comes, the process of recovery after treatment is long and you can find yourself impatient when you realise you do not have the reserve of energy that deceptively comes in bursts and then deserts you literally abruptly.

Along the way, I have had such amazing support and understanding; the theme of World Cancer Day seeks to “create a world where we look beyond the disease and see the person before the patient.” In general, I have been seen and there are times I have wrestled with the experts to be seen, this has been encapsulated in the assertion that “It’s my body first before it’s your guinea pig.”

When I think of cancer, I think of many who have not been as fortunate, who suffered in ways impossible to articulate, then of those of us who have come out at the other end with our unique stories, and the united effort of medicine aggregating the body of knowledge acquired from all experiences to battle cancer to victory for our humanity.

More importantly, I focus on faith and hope, a future better than today where cancer is caught early and treatable. The best situation would be to avoid cancer completely. My advocacy is getting more black men to talk about Men’s things honestly, freely, confidently, and proactively for our lives and those we love. Here’s to World Cancer Day 2025.

Blog - Men's things - XXII

Thought Picnic: Patience is a place of calm

Process is patient

We learn the work of patience as a continuous experience in life. There are things that need to begin, grow, and mature, they require a timeframe that in our knowledge will allow us to reap the best harvest of a situation.

You want fruits to grow to a size and ripen, you’ll be suspicious of fruit that instantly grows like air being blown into a balloon and ripens like flicking the switch of a lightbulb. Yes, there are people with a snake-oil remedy disposition that would love to pass off fruit like that in the market for a quick buck. They will do so and disappear.

Destination travels patient

Those who intend to return to the market time and again, will let patience do its work because it builds reputation, shows character, reveals integrity and espouses humanity, because they do unto others what they expect others to do unto them. They are in their souls, the good neighbour, the Good Samaritan, the people of whom we learn by example, who we can trust with the reins of power to do right.

We must be patient, because no matter how fast you are going, you will not be going beyond your destination and those caught in the slow lane will eventually get there. We should just be wary of those who have no destination, wandering in the wilderness with a path or direction who might soon wander into the path of predators to be consumed.

Preparation grows patience

Patience is a virtue we can so easily run out of, yet, it gives a different sense of calm when you know that what is coming will come because things are in motion by reason of activities in place to make it happen. It is borne in quiet contemplation away from the noise of the madding crowds and the maddening situations.

Give patience its place and anxiety will have no hold. It is taking so long to reach the decision, what we no more fear is regardless of how long drawn out it becomes, the general idea of what is expected will take its incontrovertible and tangible form that no realities from alternate universes can dispute.