They were wrong. I can still feel the camera in my stomach. I can't really; it's just a ghost of the feeling I had today during which I was not heavily sedated, despite everyone's promises to the contrary. Demerol, droperidol and something else, but not enough of anything. I was far more awake than I had expected, and the bumping from the camera inside my stomach was an experience I really can't describe. Did you see Alien? There you go. The rest of you can close your eyes and visualize.

I had arrived, changed into two more enormous hospital gowns, gotten an IV. I was last in a row of beds in the recovery room. The place was organized chaos. It reminded me of a mall parking lot on Christmas eve. Someone was always pulling in or leaving.

They took me into a little room with endoscopy machines and monitors and gave me a couple of tiny cups of lidocaine liquid. The idea was to gargle with the lidocaine and thereby numb the back of your throat to ease the gag reflex. That's the good part. The bad part is that lidocaine tastes worse than barium. Think: lighter fluid. At least I didn't have to swallow it.

The doctor came in, hellos were exchanged, I was turned on my left side. I was comfortable for a minute, wondering when the drugs would really kick in. They stuck an O-shaped pacifier in my mouth to keep it open without my thinking about it. Then my doctor picked up this black garden hose and said, "Can you get the lights? Thanks. Okay, we're gonna get started." And he pushed the tube down my throat.

He was fast. By the time I started gagging and reaching a hand to him, the camera was in my stomach. The nurse behind me caught my arm gently and pulled it back. I had an instant of temptation, in my surprise, to swing my forearm back and get her face with the back of my fist. I didn't.

"Breathe through your nose," the nurse kept saying. I did what I could. The doctor pumped air into my stomach; yeah, that was comfortable. I looked up at the monitor and saw my esophagus entering my stomach, which I thought was cool, but I closed my eyes to concentrate on not throwing up or freaking out. Just breathe.

Eventually it was over, and I slept for thirty minutes or so in the still-chaotic recovery room. After they made sure I wouldn't pass out (heh), they let me change into street clothes, for which I was hugely grateful: I'd worn a wool sweater and coat, and I was (as usual) freezing in my hospital duds.

"Everything was normal," one of the nurses told me, smiling, while I signed the discharge papers. Normal? So far, the only thing that felt normal was the strange crampy feeling I get in my legs after I've slept a bit in a hospital bed.

My father appeared like a dream and whisked me out of there, after we got our paperwork straight. He's an angel. I was asleep fifteen minutes after I got home.

But let's get back to the sedatives issue. Do I have a higher tolerance? How could I have developed a tolerance for a drug I've never had (Demerol)? Why did this test have to suck?

And, uh, normal was not what we wanted to hear. I mean, I'm glad to know that I don't have "some huge tumor in there," as my doctor put it. So what's plan B? Does it involve sticking anything else into me? Can you get the drug doses right this time? Is there a plan B?

Anyway. Normal, they said. Follow-up appointment next month. No worries, guys, I can live on cereal until then, can't I?