I finally finished reading The President’s House on Thursday. It’s a comprehensive two-volume history of the White House, 1,231 pages long, from the building of the house through the present; the Clinton and Bush II years are covered in an epilogue, because most of their administrations’ papers haven’t been released yet. I bought it the day after Christmas and started reading it over the holidays. Every workday from the beginning of the New Year until last week, I lugged the first volume, and then the second, back and forth with me on the subway and train to and from work.

I know so much more about the house, the presidents and their families than I did when I first started. Fascinating stuff.

And now I have to find a new book to read on my commute. Until I do, I’m catching up on my New Yorkers.

I had an upper endoscopy yesterday. They knock you out and stick a thin tube down your throat with a camera attached to it to examine your esophagus, stomach, and first part of your small intestine. I’ve had chronic stomach problems for much of my life — without giving TMI, I’ve long had problems being “regular” — and I decided it was finally time to see if there was a reason. So my regular doctor recommended a gastroenterologist, and I saw him a couple of weeks ago, and he decided to explore various causes. (Fortunately I didn’t need a colonoscopy — I already had one of those about a decade ago and it didn’t find anything unusual, so the doctor said it wasn’t necessary right now.)

I didn’t sleep very well the night before, because I was nervous about having an IV put in my arm and being sedated. I don’t like the idea of anesthesia — what if they give you too much and you don’t wake up? (Despite the fact that people do this procedure every day and doctors have perfected all the details over the years, I still worried. ‘Cuz that’s what I do.) Also, I realized that I’d taken an ibuprofen three days earlier and wasn’t supposed to, because the instructions said not to take ibuprofen or aspirin or anything that can thin the blood for seven days before the procedure, and I’d forgotten about that. Fortunately, when I told the nurse and she went and asked the doctor about it, he said it was fine.

So I put on a gown and got wheeled into a little room and they stuck a needle in my arm and I didn’t look at it. Then they had me lie on my side and I tried to breathe slowly and relax and not be nervous. I didn’t know whether or not they had started administering the anesthesia yet, and I thought, Am I supposed to be falling asleep now? How am I ever going to fall asleep if I feel this nervous? What if I don’t fall asleep and I’m awake while they stick this tube down my throat?

Then the doctor put a plastic mouthguard in my mouth and said I might feel a slight burning sensation in my arm. I didn’t, but I did suddenly feel this lovely, heavy, gauzy sensation come over me…

…and the next thing I know, a nurse is waking me up. The mouthguard and IV are gone, and so are the doctor and his assistant. The nurse brings me some juice and some cheese and crackers.

I was probably out for all of 15 minutes. I didn’t have a sore throat afterward or anything. Just some burpy gassiness. I had no awareness or memory of the procedure being done at all.

I saw the doctor briefly — he said everything looked pretty normal except that I have some minor acid reflux. I asked if that could cause stomach issues, and he said yes, although when I researched it online later, I didn’t see much indication that the two are related. I don’t usually suffer heartburn or a burning sensation in my esophagus, although I have noticed sometimes in the last couple of years that it’s harder to sing than it used to be (I’m in a chorus) and that my speaking voice sometimes doesn’t feel like it’s at full strength. Andy has written about how his opera career was cut short due to acid reflux.

Anyway, I’m supposed to take this daily medication for two weeks and see if it does anything and then go back to the doctor. I guess I’ll see.

Fun fun fun.