Look Mom, I swallow

I know many of you who have been wondering what ever happened with that mysterious ailment that had been plaguing my body and slowly killing my spirit for the past year. Well I’m pleased to say that as of today we are one step closer to solving the mystery. Thanks to the wizardry of modern medicine, trial and error has once again proven that my swallowing problem is not a condition of the throat.

In case you need a reminder, over a year ago I had what I thought was anaphylactic shock triggered by a piece of breaded shrimp that I ate while sitting in the back of a BMW convertible speeding down some Long Island highway. Firstly, if you know me, you know that not only am I the world’s worst driver, I also am the world’s worst passenger. Even if I were being driven in a children’s parade, I would still have the overwhelming fear of having my legs smashed to bits in a terrible accident. So my uneasiness about being in an careening automobile coupled by the fact that I was being suffocated by my own body while my hair was painfully whipping my face, then multiplied by the fact that I was in Long Island, made this event horrible on multiple levels.

After that terrible day I confidently assumed that I had an allergic reaction to shellfish. However, the following months would prove that there was something amiss. And eventually all types of food would make my throat clam-up. A visit to two separate allergists proved that I have no allergies whatsoever. This news was quite disheartening. And I was angry that I had wasted so much energy carrying around a bulky epi-pen in my purse for half a year. I was told it was anxiety. Of course, I thought, one would have anxiety when their body decides to strangle itself.

"Less stress would be the cure", they said. "But if I’m anything its not stressed", I argued. To which they answered, "Well, if it makes you feel bad, don’t eat it". And that’s when I realized with certainty that doctors know fuck-all about health. Yet despite my dubious and perverse feelings on modern medicine (thanks in part to my acupuncturist), I’m not opposed to seeing more specialists.

Which brings me to my latest attempt at understanding my bodies rebellious nature to food. Over the last couple of months I’ve been choking on more mundane foods like bread, so I decided to have another go at conventional medicine. This time I went to see an othorhinolaryngologist, less respectively called an Ear, Nose and Throat doctor. Now, I actually like going to doctors. Mostly because other than this small swallowing issue I’m in great health, and I love having people confirm this. I also love to tout that I have abnormally low blood pressure and the resting heart rate of a dead person (I also have thin wrists and ankles).

Well, 45 minutes in the examination room and after already having been visited by the nurse, who much like a stripper, leaves you feeling unsatisfied, the doctor comes in and starts the second round of questioning. Although I know that doctors don’t need much information to make an assessment, I like to inundate them with anecdotes related to the problem. Like the bard, I tell my story with enthusiasm, allowing the doctor to relive my horrors and relish my heroism. I use this time as a kind therapy. And frankly, after having been made to wait in the exam room with nothing more a bunch of pamphlets on sleep apnea to leaf through, I feel I’m owed that much.

And then the doctor does what she was trained to do. She takes a device and sticks it in my nostril and gently pushes it down into my throat, mentioning ever so casually that it may be "slightly uncomfortable". Now I’m no stranger to having things crammed down my throat, so in the least, this silly device was nothing more than mere a tickle. This doctor also happened to be well trained in the art of suspense. So while she’s servicing my throat, she utters not a peep. Not an "aha!" or "hmm…that’s weird". Nothing. After she pulls the device out of my head and waits a few moments to further build suspense, she assesses that I have some kind of irritation. "Really? Tell me more" I say. "Well," she continues, "you seem to have some kind of irritation caused by reflux. But you don’t actually have reflux. The reflux may be caused by something else. You will need to see a gastroenterologist". Apparently, and here’s where it gets good, I may have an allergy in my throat.

And that my friends is the beauty of modern medicine. Of course she prescribed me some reflux medication which I obviously turned down, since, as she had just stated, I don’t have reflux. But I did take her recommendation on the stomach doctor, because unlike Scooby Doo, I don’t think one can solve a case by running away from fear and eating scooby snacks. Nay, like Sherlock Holmes, one must solve the mystery with the aid of an intellectually limited yet resourceful doctor, who despite being analytically inferior is brave and efficient.