As a woman of a certain age, I’ve had enough doctors, nurses, technicians, interns, and members of the general public up in my hoo-ha that if I lined them all up, we could fill out a parade.
With two miscarriages, three children and a round of fertility treatments under my belt, I’ve had more ultrasounds than I can count on all my fingers and toes. You’d think after that many procedures, I’d get used to it – but the invasiveness of the procedure still throws me off. So, a couple of weeks ago, to keep myself amused, I kept track of the thoughts that were going through my head…
- (In the change room): Why do they call this a gown anyway? Why not put you in assless chaps? They’re much more comfortable and at least you know what’s showing.
- (Technician dims lights): Wow…mood lighting. Now all we need is some rose petals on the bed, candle light and Michael Buble.
- (Technician gets you in place on table and offers you “sheet”): Phew. I feel much less exposed now.
- (After technician wraps wand): Well…at least she’s using protection.
- Ummm…couldn’t we shake hands or hug first or something?
- You know, usually I’m at least offered dinner first.
- Thanks for the lube…I somehow wasn’t producing any of my own.
- (Technician says to “shout” if it gets uncomfortable): Grit teeth and resist urge to shout.
- Sorry I didn’t have a chance to clean up. Are there a lot of cob webs up in there?
- How come they never decorate the ceiling in these places? Cause I don’t really want to look you in the eye right now.
- You’d probably get more repeat customers if you combined the wand with a rabbit. Might also save you some funds as far as lube goes…
Wait…it’s over? OK…I’ll just grab my dignity on my way out. Ahhh, good. Right where I parked it – at the door.
This post originally appeared on Sammiches and Psych Meds. It has been reprinted with permission.
