Part Three of it-will-never-be-over
Will this story ever fucking end?
I’m not sure. It’s August 15th and I’m beginning to wonder.
On the Monday my bulge-thing was still pretty visible, but I didn’t want to over react. I worked two and a half hours, and after that it was too hard to sit up. All I had a chance to do was read my emails (hooray for being able to work from home!) and find out that I had approximately 7.3 buttloads of work to look forward to.
Tuesday I worked a full day, but still from home. Unfortunately, the bulge-thing was still really there and pretty tender, and I kind of had a bit of a freak-out. So I called my lady parts doctor and made an appointment.
Actually, I only told the nice receptionist that I had some questions for my doctor. I get shunted over to my doctor’s secretary, and she tells me that the doctor won’t be in the office for the rest of the week. So she takes my name and all of a sudden look at that there is a slot available first thing Friday morning.
Yeah, I guess I am special.
So I go back to work the next day. I was feeling SO much better. The difference was really amazing. On Monday I had trouble walking around and I couldn’t sit up for long periods. On Wednesday even stairs were not a problem (as long as there weren’t too many) and I felt really good.
I think I even had sex on Wednesday. Yeah, I’m such a trooper.
Oh wait, I just checked my notes. I quote from Tuesday: tested the new plumbing, belly was a little sore after but things were mostly in order.
Maybe that is why I felt so much better on Wednesday.
Anyway, fast forward to Friday and my appointment. It was kind of creepy that all of the staff seemed to know exactly who I was from the moment I’d walked in. Maybe they are all just really friendly (well, they are) but still.
Anyway, to make a really long story a little shorter, my doctor felt up my bulge and got me the “emergency slot” at the ultrasound part of the hospital. She said that “with all I’d been through” she didn’t want to take any chances.
If only she’d known.
Do you ever find yourself at the hospital without a book? You should not do such a thing. Forty five minutes in a room full of sick and/or decrepit people is not a place you want to be if you have no distractions for yourself.
Finally, I get called into the ultrasound part.
And dear god they make me get into a fucking hospital gown.
Bonus points for me that I was wearing my bright orange Wonder Woman underwear. Both the ultrasound lady and my doctor kind of got a kick out of that.
Well, things seemed to be going ok. Until the tech lady put the scanner back in its little holster but told me to stay put for a minute. She leaves and comes back with this older guy. Turns out this guy is the doctor in charge of ultrasounds or radiology in general or something. Anyway. This guy lubes up the scanner and starts scanning around. All the while the lady is behind him with her hand over her mouth looking at the screen like my insides are melting as they watch.
Great guys. That’s fucking great.
The two of them tell me something vague that I don’t really remember and assure me that they are going to pass on their report to my doctor as soon as they can.
Later that day I missed a call from my doctor. She left a really long message about how there was some sort of something in my tubes but that I am totally ok and I shouldn’t worry about anything she will have her office schedule a second ultrasound but I should have a great weekend.
Kudos to my doctor for calling me on a Friday evening.
So my next ultrasound was scheduled for, of all times, 8:30 Sunday morning. Sunday on a long weekend no less. So not two days later Sunday, the next Sunday. And at least my story get a little funny again here, because did you know there are different kinds of ultrasounds?
Oh yes.
This new tech lady, who was probably mid thirties, very soft spoken and from somewhere in Europe, asked me “have you ever had an internal ultrasound?” To which I replied, LIKE AN IDIOT “well, I just had an ultrasound last week”.
Then she pulls out the scanner thing.
You are going to put what WHERE I ask.
You know all those probes you see aliens using in movies? This thing looked pretty much like every one of those.
So the poor lady didn’t know what she was getting into when she took this shift, because she started in with telling me I don’t have to do this if I don’t want to, I could make another appointment when I’ve had time to prepare, etc., etc.
Hell no.
It is a Sunday fucking morning; I’m tired, half naked and just want this whole thing to be over. Shove the stick up my hoo-ha and let’s get this over with.
I think the worst part was when she was sort of swirling it around, all I could think of was “oh man, this is so going to go on the internets” I started to get the giggles. I tried to hold it in. So I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was ok until she asked me if she was hurting me.
I didn’t mean to laugh at her.
But it’s not like I was going to tell her why.
If only my story ended here.
I just got back from the follow-up visit of that ultrasound. It turns out that in the first ultrasound there were three cyst-things in my ovaries (or something that is not exactly my ovaries but not exactly my tubes), one in each side about 3cm and just for kicks, an extra of about 2cm in the left one. The second ultrasound found that the right side had cleared up but the left side now has a cyst-thing of 7cm.
Yeah. And if that isn’t good enough for you, should this little bugger need to be removed, it is a laparoscopic procedure.
Yes. Read that again.
LAPAROSCOPIC
That is the sound of Jesus laughing at me.
Anyway, I’m going to have an MRI so that there is a better image of my insides. This will determine if I need to have another surgery. If I do end up needing to be knifed again, my doctor is going to do a different kind of laparoscopy (I can’t remember what it is called), one that doesn’t inflate me like a balloon so that there won’t be a needle near my freakishly low-hanging stomach.
Unfortunately, this other way involves a bigger incision and a longer healing time. Theoretically, anyway. (Because maybe I will avoid spending FIVE FUCKING DAYS in the damn hospital?)
AT LEAST I AM FRICKIN’ STERILE.
I’m not sure. It’s August 15th and I’m beginning to wonder.
On the Monday my bulge-thing was still pretty visible, but I didn’t want to over react. I worked two and a half hours, and after that it was too hard to sit up. All I had a chance to do was read my emails (hooray for being able to work from home!) and find out that I had approximately 7.3 buttloads of work to look forward to.
Tuesday I worked a full day, but still from home. Unfortunately, the bulge-thing was still really there and pretty tender, and I kind of had a bit of a freak-out. So I called my lady parts doctor and made an appointment.
Actually, I only told the nice receptionist that I had some questions for my doctor. I get shunted over to my doctor’s secretary, and she tells me that the doctor won’t be in the office for the rest of the week. So she takes my name and all of a sudden look at that there is a slot available first thing Friday morning.
Yeah, I guess I am special.
So I go back to work the next day. I was feeling SO much better. The difference was really amazing. On Monday I had trouble walking around and I couldn’t sit up for long periods. On Wednesday even stairs were not a problem (as long as there weren’t too many) and I felt really good.
I think I even had sex on Wednesday. Yeah, I’m such a trooper.
Oh wait, I just checked my notes. I quote from Tuesday: tested the new plumbing, belly was a little sore after but things were mostly in order.
Maybe that is why I felt so much better on Wednesday.
Anyway, fast forward to Friday and my appointment. It was kind of creepy that all of the staff seemed to know exactly who I was from the moment I’d walked in. Maybe they are all just really friendly (well, they are) but still.
Anyway, to make a really long story a little shorter, my doctor felt up my bulge and got me the “emergency slot” at the ultrasound part of the hospital. She said that “with all I’d been through” she didn’t want to take any chances.
If only she’d known.
Do you ever find yourself at the hospital without a book? You should not do such a thing. Forty five minutes in a room full of sick and/or decrepit people is not a place you want to be if you have no distractions for yourself.
Finally, I get called into the ultrasound part.
And dear god they make me get into a fucking hospital gown.
Bonus points for me that I was wearing my bright orange Wonder Woman underwear. Both the ultrasound lady and my doctor kind of got a kick out of that.
Well, things seemed to be going ok. Until the tech lady put the scanner back in its little holster but told me to stay put for a minute. She leaves and comes back with this older guy. Turns out this guy is the doctor in charge of ultrasounds or radiology in general or something. Anyway. This guy lubes up the scanner and starts scanning around. All the while the lady is behind him with her hand over her mouth looking at the screen like my insides are melting as they watch.
Great guys. That’s fucking great.
The two of them tell me something vague that I don’t really remember and assure me that they are going to pass on their report to my doctor as soon as they can.
Later that day I missed a call from my doctor. She left a really long message about how there was some sort of something in my tubes but that I am totally ok and I shouldn’t worry about anything she will have her office schedule a second ultrasound but I should have a great weekend.
Kudos to my doctor for calling me on a Friday evening.
So my next ultrasound was scheduled for, of all times, 8:30 Sunday morning. Sunday on a long weekend no less. So not two days later Sunday, the next Sunday. And at least my story get a little funny again here, because did you know there are different kinds of ultrasounds?
Oh yes.
This new tech lady, who was probably mid thirties, very soft spoken and from somewhere in Europe, asked me “have you ever had an internal ultrasound?” To which I replied, LIKE AN IDIOT “well, I just had an ultrasound last week”.
Then she pulls out the scanner thing.
You are going to put what WHERE I ask.
You know all those probes you see aliens using in movies? This thing looked pretty much like every one of those.
So the poor lady didn’t know what she was getting into when she took this shift, because she started in with telling me I don’t have to do this if I don’t want to, I could make another appointment when I’ve had time to prepare, etc., etc.
Hell no.
It is a Sunday fucking morning; I’m tired, half naked and just want this whole thing to be over. Shove the stick up my hoo-ha and let’s get this over with.
I think the worst part was when she was sort of swirling it around, all I could think of was “oh man, this is so going to go on the internets” I started to get the giggles. I tried to hold it in. So I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was ok until she asked me if she was hurting me.
I didn’t mean to laugh at her.
But it’s not like I was going to tell her why.
If only my story ended here.
I just got back from the follow-up visit of that ultrasound. It turns out that in the first ultrasound there were three cyst-things in my ovaries (or something that is not exactly my ovaries but not exactly my tubes), one in each side about 3cm and just for kicks, an extra of about 2cm in the left one. The second ultrasound found that the right side had cleared up but the left side now has a cyst-thing of 7cm.
Yeah. And if that isn’t good enough for you, should this little bugger need to be removed, it is a laparoscopic procedure.
Yes. Read that again.
LAPAROSCOPIC
That is the sound of Jesus laughing at me.
Anyway, I’m going to have an MRI so that there is a better image of my insides. This will determine if I need to have another surgery. If I do end up needing to be knifed again, my doctor is going to do a different kind of laparoscopy (I can’t remember what it is called), one that doesn’t inflate me like a balloon so that there won’t be a needle near my freakishly low-hanging stomach.
Unfortunately, this other way involves a bigger incision and a longer healing time. Theoretically, anyway. (Because maybe I will avoid spending FIVE FUCKING DAYS in the damn hospital?)
AT LEAST I AM FRICKIN’ STERILE.