– In which Dorn finally concludes his search for his mystery illness.
hen we left off this now quite long story about my mysterious gastro-intestinal tract bleeding (here), I had just finished undergoing a Balloon Endoscopy, where the doc had sent his scope down my throat, and used the balloons at the probe’s end to shimmy about half-way down my GI tract. He examined every inch of real estate along the way, but ended up finding nothing that shed light on my mystery illness.
The logical next (and just about final) thing to try was to have a probe repeat this mapping of my internal landscape, but start from the other end—“swim upstream with the salmon”, as they say, “drive North on the interstate”, “drain the bathtub counter-clockwise”, “watch the swallows leaving Capistrano”, “tuck-point the chimney in anti-Santa mode”. Whatever your favorite expression for it is, they all mean the same thing: undergo a Retrograde Balloon Endoscopy.
In many ways the procedure seemed about the same as the previous endoscopy, but there was at least one important difference in my experience. My work to prepare for the procedure took longer and was more unpleasant.
The preparation started with a requirement to ingest nothing but clear liquids on the day before the procedure. I decided I was going to do even better than that, to assure a sparkling GI tract in which no anomaly could hide, by starting this liquid diet three full days before the scoping. Part-way into my first day of clear liquids, I broke down and enjoyed a real meal. “I don’t REALLY need to start my liquid diet today—even if I start tomorrow, I’ll still be one full day ahead of the directions!”
The second day I only cheated a little. I had bought a small bag of those ruffle-y potato chips to pack in our hotel kit, for when you really want a nosh but don’t want to leave the room. I broke into the bag around noon. I figured this was hardly a cheat at all, because what are potato chips anyway but a thin little bit of potato and a lot of salt and oil? And oil’s a clear liquid, after all. And salt must be okay, because if you dissolve it in water (or heat it to 1473°F) then that’s a clear liquid too, right? So the only illegal part was the potato, and let’s be honest, potato chips probably have almost no actual potato in them nowadays anyway. It’s like maple syrup in that respect (don’t get me started!).
By the third day (the actual day that I was supposed to start my liquid-only fast), I figured I was at least a little ahead of the instructions. I complied that day, even when Kathleen’s breakfast was rewarmed rib-eye steak and baked potato. What else could I do?
This was the day we (Kathleen, Archie and I) went to hotel room in Baltimore for the night before the procedure, because it was scheduled so early the next morning.
Between the packing, getting ourselves and Archie ready, driving, and moving into the hotel room, I didn’t have much time to think about cheating on my diet most of the day. But once we were settled in, I took Archie for a walk around the block, and stumbled on the Helmand Kabobi Afghani restaurant. I poked my head in and asked for a carryout menu (for Kathleen). “Come on in! Your dog can come too, there’s nobody here yet.”
The whole place was awash with the most delicious smells! Spices, meats, garlic, and things I couldn’t recognize. I don’t think it smelled this good just because I hadn’t had a decent meal (or any meal, really) in several days. They had dishes with cardomom (my favorite spice), cinnamon, turmeric, mint, Shalgum and sabzy (whatever they are). It was hard to stay in there, even long enough to grab a menu!
I made it back to the safety of the hotel room! No aromatic aush, shorwa or dwopiaza here, just some Gatorade (don’t ask), tea- and coffee-bags and, if I felt I needed a special treat, a bottle of sparkling San Pelligrino.
Eventually it was almost time to take my final medicine, that would get me fully prepared for tomorrow morning’s endoscopy. But before that, I’d better take Archie out for one last walk. He seemed to like the city as much as the last time he was here, and seemed to remember the little park at the side of the hotel.
After he had done what we came for, he rushed back toward the hotel so fast the he nearly tore the leash from my hands! “Isn’t that neat!” I thought. “He remembers the hotel from last time and considers it his home-from-home.”
We ran/walked back to the hotel entrance as quickly/slowly as Archie and I could negotiate, but he barely paused a moment at the front entrance, and continued straight on as fast as he could manage, with only cursory sniffs at the little tree islands along the sidewalk. He didn’t slow down until he got to his real destination: the Helmand Kabobi. That’s one smart dog! But we both had to turn around and return to the hotel unsatisfied. Maybe tomorrow, after the endoscopy, we could hit it again.
Of the rest of the day, perhaps the less said the better.
The procedure itself went off without a hitch, except at one point the head nurse there decided to tell Kathleen that she would be attacked and killed if she set foot on the street outside the hospital, and the only safe way to get to and from the hotel was to use the nurse’s “secret passageway”. Which, by the way, can’t be accessed without a nurse ID card. Way to keep the family calm, Nurse Laura!
Immediately after the procedure came the part Kathleen had been waiting for: the exit interview with the dreamy Dr Bollywood! (She literally had dreamed about him the night before.) But alas, he didn’t show up. Instead, he sent out a perfectly serviceable but definitely non-dreamy other doctor, who told us that, as they feared might happen, the endoscopy showed up nothing useful to discerning my illness. They had warned me in advance that this was likely, but I felt I needed to get this endoscopy even so, as this was really the final test in their arsenal.
He was quite pleased to note, though, that my mystery illness and all my tests had kept his interns and fellows occupied for quite a number of clinical peer reviews, and they looked forward to every time I came. So it was all worthwhile, I guess.
Afterward, I was feeling too crappy to want any Afghan food (drat!), so we packed up and Kathleen drove me home.
When I first got this illness (described here), I had vowed not to stop looking until I had found its cause. But I seem to have come to the end of the search. My symptoms ended months ago, and they said that (if this is what they think it is) it’s hard to find even when it’s active, and mine has been dormant for many months now.
Reluctantly, I’m calling my search off, until some new clue presents itself. A clue which, if it comes, I hope isn’t too painful or dangerous to me! And so here ends my tale….or does it??
Thanks for your patience,
Dorn
1/23/2020
Wow! But never fear, surely Netflix will spring for a new season with the Afghani restaurant playing an unanticipated but surprisingly heartwarming role.