Chapter 3: The Tests Begin
An upper endoscopy means threading a scope down the throat, through the esophagus, into the stomach, even peeking at the first part of the small intestine. It lets us see everything up close.
“Think of it like a tiny camera on a fishing line,” I said, aiming for a smile. “It’s quick, we’ll keep you comfortable, and it tells us what’s going on.”
He already knew he needed the test, so he was mentally braced. After checking in and paying, he headed off to get prepped.
He hesitated, thumb hovering over his contacts, probably debating whether to text his mom or not. Then he checked his phone for missed texts, tossed his wallet into the hospital’s plastic bag. The nurse handed him a crisp blue gown—too thin, as always. Derek rolled his eyes but changed anyway.
Before the endoscopy, I ordered a chest X-ray and an EKG, since that cough still lingered. I needed to rule out pneumonia, cover every base.
Old habits from residency die hard. You learn to anticipate every what-if. I scribbled the X-ray order, made sure the tech knew, double-checked his allergies—no latex, no shellfish. He fidgeted on the gurney, glancing up. “Is this really necessary?” he asked. I assured him, “Just being thorough. It’s routine.”
The chest X-ray came back: mild pneumonia, nothing too alarming.
We caught it early, I told him, and he let out a relieved sigh. “Just a touch of pneumonia. Nothing we can’t handle.” His shoulders slumped, tension leaking out just a bit.
His EKG was normal.
A green line scrolled across the monitor, steady and calm. “Your heart’s strong as an ox,” I said, grinning. He managed a weak smile in return.
I turned to the resident, Dr. Lopez—a third-year, still learning the ropes. “For patients like this, always get an EKG. Endoscopy isn’t without risk, and if they have a heart issue, you need to know.”
Dr. Lopez nodded, jotting it down. “Always cover your bases,” I reminded him, echoing my old mentors. Medicine is about expecting the unexpected.
We drew blood for labs—a complete blood count. The results popped up on my screen fast: his hemoglobin was 7.0 g/dL. Normal is 12–15. That was real anemia. I frowned, heart sinking.
The phlebotomist had barely left before I saw the numbers. My brow furrowed—numbers like that never mean anything good.