For the last several months, I've been having some minor digestion problems, so my regular doctor, the ever-astonishing Michael Engelberg, sent me to a gastroenterologist friend of his, who had me take an upper GI series of X-rays. These showed just enough minor stomach abnormalities for him to order up an endoscopy test. Thus, at an ungodly hour this morning, my lovely wife and I drove over to Beverly Hills for me to have the procedure.
The procedure is basically a simple one. You go to the clinic, lay down on a table, they start an IV, add a drug that knocks you senseless, and while you're under, the doctor sticks a camera on a tube down your throat to check out your esophagus and stomach. About a half hour later, you wake up, feeling a little loopy, and that's it. You're done. Somebody (in this case, my aforementioned lovely wife) drives you home, and the next day you're fine.
I wouldn't have mentioned all this, except that I just looked at NBC-TV's new fall schedule, and I'm afraid that the film of my endoscopy stands a really good chance of getting higher ratings than most of what they've got planned.