You Wanna Stick That WHERE???

Warning: The following blog post is not for the weak-stomached. Additionally, no medical terms were intentionally slaughtered or harmed in the making of this post.
________________________________________________

If you have never been hospitalized or subjected to medical testing, be grateful; very grateful.

When I was in college at BYU-Hawaii, I got really sick during my second semester. Hepatitis was going around, so I needed to be checked out by a doctor. The nurse took my vitals and asked when my last physical was. I rambled some guesstimation, which wasn't to her satisfaction. She handed me the gown and told me I would get a complete physical. So there I sat in a glacial chamber of sterile furnishings and peroxidic odors , shivering beneath the paper-thin gown. Mr. McDreamy entered the room. He had long luscious locks and looked HOT in scrubs. I think my temperature elevated at least 2 degrees. He didn't look a day over 21. "You're the Doctor???" I asked. He flashed his million dollar smile, and answered, "Yep. Completing my residency." "Holy Crapola!" I thought. I had never been seen naked by ANYONE since my parents diapered my butt as a baby! It felt wrong somehow - like some soap-opera-hunk Dr. getting ready to put the moves on his Damsel-in-Distress patient. I remember cringing - a lot - and taking a lot of deep breaths. He of course was a complete professional. I didn't have Hepatitis, by the way. Just a severe cold.

Shortly after marriage - like in the blink of an eye - I became pregnant with my first baby. I was sick as a dog. I became weak and couldn't even keep water down. I went to the hospital and they confirmed I was pregnant and stuck an I.V. into me and pumped me full of nutrients. Then they sent me home with suppositories that were to help with nausea. "You want me to put those where?" I thought. Well, let's just say the suppositories were made of this malodorous glycerin type substance and just opening the bottle was enough to invoke a Kermit-The-Frog-Like-Green color in my face as well as yesterday's water from my stomach.

A few weeks later, I went in for my first "Pre-Natal Check-Up". I didn't know what to expect. I was 19 years old, living in Hawaii, and had never been to an OB/GYN in my life. Well, first things first. The locals speak Hawaiian Pidgin - a broken or slang English. Anyway upon arriving, the gal at the front desk hands me a small paper cup, points down the hall and says, "Take dis cup and go make shi-shi. When done, bring back to me. Ok?" At this point I am thinking a couple of things. "Make Shi-Shi? And then I have to carry it back, in front of all the other patients in the waiting room? Oh I don't think so." I tell the lady, that I don't think I can go "shi-shi" at the moment. She replies for me to go to the exam room, and try to "make shi-shi" at the end of my visit. I am still clueless as to why the Dr. might need this sort of specimen.

I enter the exam room, and the Dr. tells me she is going to be performing a Transvaginal Ultrasound. First of all - why is it called performing? Is it some sort of trick? Does she expect an applause afterwards? Second of all -- transvaginal??? Is that what I think it means? She continues to explain that she will use a "transducer" for this procedure, and as she is talking she is opening a package of prophylactics. The only thing I have known of transducers is that they are some sort of sonar equipment that the government uses to test things underwater for the Navy. Gives new meaning to "going down under". Then she pulls out this wand-looking thing and slips the "protective covering" over it. "You wanna stick that where?" I wasn't sure whether I should laugh or cry. At the end of the exam, the Dr. says, "Oh, by the way - I still need a urine sample from you" "Urine sample?" I ask her. "You mean Shi-Shi is Pee?" The Dr. chuckles and says, "Yes. in Pidgin #1 is Shi-shi and #2 is Doo-Doo". Wow, I thought. I am so glad I found that out before I made a doo-dy in the cup and carried it all the way to the front desk! Can you imagine the look I would have gotten from not only the patients, but the girl at the front desk???

For my first Pelvic CT Scan, No eating after 8pm, no drinking after midnight the night before. I also have to drink an entire bottle of some sort of liquid laxative. Don't worry, they tell me. It's carbonated and lemon flavored. What - like a Diarrhea Spritzer? Is that supposed to make me feel better? It was totally nasty. Then, I thought all I had to do was show up the next morning, with a stomach that had been scraped clean. Oh no - that would be too easy. They handed me a jug of some milky substance. I hate milk. Just the thought of drinking it, ugh - i just threw up in my mouth! Well, you get the idea. And whoever had the brilliant idea to "flavor" the milk stuff with Orange flavoring should be shot. Apparently they were going for "Orange Creamsicle". I got news for you, Creamsicle Man, Barium Sulfate Solution is going to taste like crap no matter what flavor syrup you add. It's not a Sno-Cone, you moron.

A year later, I had to go for a second Pelvic CT Scan. It was harder to drink all that crap the second time around, believe it or not. The lab technician comes out twice to get me, and both times I haven't finished the "Orange Creamsicle Cocktail". She finally threatens me with a five minute deadline before disappearing behind the double doors. I quickly scan the waiting room. The girls at the reception desk are busy reading magazines and discussing the latest Dating Quiz that will reveal whether or not they are a perfect match. I locate the restroom and I end up dumping about half of what is left down the drain. I emerge from the restroom, just as another technician comes to retrieve me. I admit to the young man that I am having a hard time finishing the drink. He says, "No problem. You probably drank enough." He informs me to change and wait for Creamsicle Nazi to come and get me. I didn't want her to look down at me with her disapproving eyes. I look around the dressing room and spot the hamper. I quickly shove the jug in the pile of dirty gowns. Childish, I know. I crack myself up just thinking about that.

About 3 months after the 2nd CT Scan, I am sent back to the hospital for a Barium Enema. The prep work is looking quite similar to that of the CT Scans. I was totally freaking out about the stupid Barium Sulfate Solution. Good News! No Orange Creamsicle Diahrrea Cocktail! I don't mind that they strap me to a table, with a cord shoved up my tookus so far it's making my nose itch. I don't care that the table is tilted back and forth, up and down, reminiscent of some lame carnival ride. It doesn't even bother me that the Barium they flush my system with is going to come gushing out the minute I stand up. I do not have to drink the Orange Creamsicle Cocktail and I am elated! At this point, I officially declare that I would much rather have a Barium Enema over a Pelvic CT Scan any day!

So now, I am having pains again. I go into the outpatient radiology unit at the hospital Monday. I learned that I have Inflammation of the Ovaries, though at this point the exact cause is unknown. I want concrete answers. So, what do I do? Research the internet, of course. What was it that Michael Scott from The Office said? "Wikipedia is the best thing ever. Anyone in the world can write anything they want about any subject. So you know you are getting the best possible information." The internet says that it could be 1)PID - which is usually caused by STDs. Whew, I can rule that one out. It also says 2) Ovulation - hmmm. Could be. But I liked #3 the best. 3) Sexual Indulgence. At first I was like, "no that can't be it. Afterall, I am a Born-Again Virgin." But then I read on. Here is what it said: "when the stimulus to the ovaries has long been denied, its sudden presentation is liable to make an inflammatory impression. Its entire absence, too, in persons of strong passions, may result in ovarian disease. This inflammation may be produced by the new state of things..." Wow. So is it saying what I think it is saying? Diagnosis: Horniness.

So, for now, until I am subjected to more poking & prodding, I have made new friends with my ibuprofin and heating pad.