Well. This ought to be an adventure.
In July of the year 2011, I noticed that I was having a wee bit of trouble breathing out of my left nostril. It was troublesome, but bearable. Over the next couple of months, the stuffy-ness increased and evolved into pain. By September I was feeling much discomfort in my sinuses and other nasal areas, and the pain was becoming more and more cumbersome every day. I went to the doctor who mentioned something called a polyp, but dismissed it and prescribed a spray to treat the inflammation. I did some research on polyps anyway, and found that they are non-cancerous, benign tumors that grow in mucusy areas. No one knows why they happen, they just happen.
A week passed, and one afternoon, I excused myself from my English class to blow my nose in the bathroom (Mr. English Teacher doesn't have tissues, you see. Maybe I ought to have bought him some for Christmas...). After a solid minute of nose-blowing, some projectile came flying out of my nose. I took a look and found something that fit the description I'd read about polyps (a slimy object that bears resemblance to a peeled grape). I was disgusted. And jubilant! I had conquered my nasal foe. I called my mother from the bathroom stall to tell her the happy news.
As the days went by, I started to feel much, much better. Weeks passed. Months passed. Everything felt fine and dandy...until the last week of December. I started to feel some familiar but unwelcome sensations in my nasal area. I had my suspicions, but I quickly pushed them from my mind and distracted myself by gorging on my Grandmother's chocolate truffles. But no amount of truffles could erase what my research from months before had told me: that polyps come back. I knew what had to be done. I told my mother. Reluctantly. Because, you see, when you tell your mother about a medical problem, she'll take you to a doctor. And doctors tell you things that you don't want to know and show you things you don't want to see and stick CAMERAS UP YOUR NOSE THAT YOU DON'T WANT THERE!!!!!
...but I'm getting ahead of myself.
After I confessed to Mother, she said the dreaded words: "Alright...let's get you in." A week and a half later, I was sitting in a chilly room with the sounds of some man next door puking his guts out filling the air. Then a short man (with a nasal voice, funnily enough) bounded into the room. He introduced himself as my doctor, and bid me tell him my story. When I was finished, he said that the thing that had come out of my nose was not a polyp. I disagreed, and he disagreed with my disagreement (and got the final word, blast him) before forcing a pair of pliers into my nose and flashing a light inside. He said that he didn't see anything and that he wanted to take a closer look. He walked to the counter and pulled out a bottle connected to a six-inch tube which was whirring ominously. He proceeded to tell me that it was a decongestant/anesthetic that was going to taste quite awful. He handed me a tissue, stuck the tube up my nose, and fired away. He somehow managed to spray it into my eye. Don't ask me how. But that man sprayed me in the eye and didn't apologize. He tossed aside his infernal weapon and started talking very fast about heaven knows what and guestured for me to follow him. Blinking wildly, I followed him through a door in the wall and into the puking man's room (puking man was gone by this time. So was the puke, as far as I could tell, which was some comfort). Doctor man showed me something black and snake-like that was approximately a foot long and informed me that it was a camera that he was going to slide up my nose. I stared at it, noncomprehending. THAT was going into my NOSE?! He tapped a moniter connected to the nasal Anaconda "That is here," he said, "so that you can see what I see." My stomach did several back-flips at that. I did not want to see what he was going to see. But I didn't get a chance to say so, because without further ado, he shoved the camera up my right nostril. I did not collapse onto the floor writhing in agony as I had expected. The anesthetic whatsit spray was doing its job (just the same, having a numb-my nose with a camera inside was not pleasant. I pray that you never feel the sensation). I watched the screen in a daze while the Doctor Man played tour guide ("You see that great, big bump? That's your 'Something Latin and Fancy.' That makes all your mucus..."). Then, suddenly, we saw it. This great, shiny, slimy, silvery mass. I gulped. The mass on the screen came to life and blew up like a bullfrog-balloon-monster. ICK. doctor man simply said: "OH. Yep! That's a polyp." He slithered the camera out, and I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he pushed it up the other nostril. He found the Bullfrog-Balloon-Monster in the catacombs of my conk once more, pressed a button on the monitor, and a second later, a printed polaroid glamor shot of the thing came whizzing out. He removed the camera from my nose (and didn't put it in again, bless him) and tossed the polaroid aside. Then he stated that the polyp was so huge that medicine was useless, and that I would need surgery. I'll be honest. By this time, I was near hysterical and nearly burst into tears. He began to explain the procedure, how complicated it is, and how things
hardly ever go wrong. Potential brain damage and death were mentioned. "But that
hardly ever happens!" he reassured me. Then he moved on to recovery. I will be on drugs and out of school for a WEEK. The first two days, I will be bleeding continuously from the nose. When recovery week is over, I will be given a nasal spray to use. Everyday. For the rest of my life (Oh, great. Yet another foreign object to shove into my anatomy. HAVEN'T I ALREADY FILLED THAT QUOTA?!!!) He then told me to see a nurse-woman about scheduling a C.T scan, and then I was free to go. At the desk on my way out, I saw that same Mister Doctor Man re-enacting the emergence of my Bullfrog-Balloon Monster for another Mister Doctor Man. They were both laughing heartily. I don't see what was so funny about it. *Shrug and a sigh.* Doctor humor.
Well, that's all. Now I just have to mentally prepare for the surgery and try to block out all those episodes of House where things go terribly, terribly wrong. Serves me right for watching too much television.
(p.s. Here's to Doctors: those lovely men and women who tell us to never stick anything up our nose so that they can do it for us.)
