My esophagogastroduodenoscopy

Post-op blah

This morning, hungry and thirsty, I arrived at the hospital for my 8:30 appointment. I was a half-hour early, but they admitted me anyway, went through the paperwork, made the confirmations. The woman at the front desk said, "Oh, you cut your hair!" upon seeing the mullet in my driver's license.

I was shown up to the "special procedures" waiting room, and I waited, and I waited. I finished Evolution's Darling while I waited, and then I was called in.

She showed me the bay in the recovery room where I'd be and told me to change into the gown. Top only, I could keep my pants on, which was fine with me. The nurse, a wonderfully bubby personality named "Z" (no, really!), set me up with an IV line in my right elbow while listening to my tale of the last time I had an IV line put in and got sepsis. "That won't happen here," she assured me.

Another nurse rolled me into the "procedure room," which was dark to help the doc see the monitor. She wired me up with ECG and a constant blood pressure monitoring cuff (you can see it on the right side of the photo) and told me they were gonna give me Midazolam and Fentanyl. I watched my heartbeat and blood pressure being monitored, and watched as the nurse set up the endoscope. It's a big, black snake of a thing, kinda scary in its weight and heft.

The doc came in and administered the drugs and... that was that. I went out instantly, stayed out during the procedure, and woke up two hours later in the recovery room.

The nurse was nice to me, and I tried to be nice to her. I didn't try to instantly stand up, and when I did I immediately sat back down and decided I was going to stay there for a while. I took the picture you see above. I also took pictures of my pictures. Wanna see what the insides of an Elf look like? Probably not.

Eventually, I was good enough to stand, dress, and take a wheelchair down to the lobby. I waited a while for a cab, but when a bus came by I took it instead. I got home around one.

I've had a sore throat and a scattered brain for most of the day. In fact, after I got home I had a lunch-- I cannot remember what, the drugs were still there, although Omaha informs me it was a BLT-- I went to bed and slept until almost 4:30. I still have a sore throat, but other than that seem no worse for the wear. I've been pretty scatterbrained most of the evening, too, but I expect I'll be fine by morning.

Frys Associates: Massive Fail

So, my Palm m500 is showing sign of Mad Digitizer Syndrome again, and it's staying so even after I give it a thorough disassembly and cleaning. This morning it seemed to be okay but Omaha dissented: "Look, that things is old. It's worn out. Why don't you go and buy a replacement?"

After hemming and hawing about whether or not we have enough money, I took her up on her offer. I discovered from their website that Frys is selling the Palm T|X for $299, but it comes with a hardcase and extra memory. I called up Frys and asked to talk to the guy at the PDA center, and he tells me he has one for sale.

I drove down there and ask. It turned out that he had one T|X for $299, except it was a customer return with no power supply, no USB cable, no hardcase, no nothing. There was a sign on it. "See associate for details on discount." He has no idea what it means. I ask to see his manager.

The manager looked at the box, shrugged, and said "That's what it is. $299 for the thing."

"Wait," I said. "Your sign over there says you'll sell me a T|X for $299 with all the accessories and a hardcase, but you're sold out. You'll sell me this thing, a return with no accessories, for the same price? What kind of sense is that?"

"It is what it is." (Have I mentioned before that I loathe that utterly meaningless phrase?) "That's what we got."

After that I went home and found what I wanted on EBay for about a $100 less. I'm just annoyed that the associate either didn't understand or was clueless on the phone (or malicious: "If I get this guy in here, I can upsell him!", but I don't want to think that too much), and his manager was a waste of human breath.