I find humor in almost any situation and my job, as I see it, is to bring levity to the world by sharing what I find humorous. Today's blog deals with a potentially sensitive medical subject and may not be funny for everyone. But if I can make one person less worried about a procedure, or maybe smile in spite of some medical tests, then my work here is done.
As some of you know I've been dealing with severe anemia for the last several months. Iron supplements don't seem to help and a recent colonoscopy and endoscopy showed nothing. So, in an effort to find out why I'm simply not managing acceptable iron levels, my doctor sent me to a gynecological specialist.
So on Tuesday I went to Dr. M's office. I should note that Dr. M is a woman. Why is this a big deal? I haven't been to a female gyno doctor in 24 years, and that time it was under protest. See, it goes back to when I was 16 and I got my first yeast infection (hey, Todd, I warned you at the front, it just gets worse from here) I went to my mother's gyno, a woman, who basically treated me like she would a very old, very rusty Chevy. Then, when I went in for the pre-marriage birth control appointment (I'll go no further into detail about that) I again went to my mother's woman who again jabbed tools up in my delicate places with all the tender touch of a blind Teamster with a hangover. In short...it was a painful experience and I felt the woman had no respect for the female equipment and therefore I swore I would go to a male gyno because men had more reverence for the womanly parts.
And that worked out very well for me until I got pregnant for the first time and the rule of the clinic was that I had to be examined by all the docs in the practice just in case one of them got called in for delivery. Well, one of the three was a woman whose name I remember to this day because of her cold, hard hearted approach to a first time mom who was wildly sick during pregnancy and had a ton of questions. But no, that's fine, rush through the appointment, don't answer anything, treat me like I'm a moron, and then go read your People Magazine in your office. (I really wish I was making that up, but that's the honest truth of what happened in that appointment.)
Which brings me to Tuesday when I saw Dr. M. who is not only a woman, but also younger than some of my sweaters. She might not be my daughter, but when she walked in I had an overwhelming urge to tell her to make sure she eats a vegetable at some point during the day.
|I'm not sure why the picture of the woman wearing a winter coat|
with the image of a uterus superimposed on her
makes me laugh...but it does.
I'm not going to go into detail about what happened at that appointment...well, okay maybe a little detail. See, the thing is she did an internal ultrasound. (This was sooooooooooo not like the ones I had when I was pregnant.) I asked if I could take the pictures home. She said, "Well, if you really want to." Then I thought about how NO ONE wanted to see my colonoscopy pics, so it would beunlikely anyone would want to check out my uterine ultrasound images. See what you people miss by being all delicate?
At the end of the ultrasound Dr. Young-Enough-To-Still-Live-In-My-Basement told me she'd found a polyp and she wanted to do a biopsy. Big, scary words. And all I could think was, "Is there any way I can work this into a blog?" I kept thinking, no, because, well, it's not funny.
So we set the biopsy for today at 1:45. And I confirmed online on MyChart. (Which is the online thing doctors use now to give you your test results instead of actually talking to your face.)
I got to the clinic, Hubby in tow because he wanted to be supportive, and when I got to the check in desk the woman told me I didn't have an appointment. Oh, believe me, I put on make up and earrings...I have an appointment! I showed her the card they gave me on Tuesday. She looked at her computer screen and informed me I'd canceled the appointment at 8:30 this morning.
Oh no, do NOT mess with me.
After several phone calls back to the women's center at the hospital where they scheduled the appointment and the clinic where I was supposed to have the appointment, they sorted it out, but by the time I got to the check in desk at the proper department I was very nearly late. And it didn't help that there was one receptionist and she was ancient and clearly technology challenged and the people in front of me had problems that simply COULD NOT be solved by just typing in their date of birth.
After sorting out the cancellation snafu AGAIN there I sat and waited for half an hour before they called me into the exam room.
Now, for those of you who have not had a uterine polyp biopsy, let me say there are a list of things they tell you to do to prep for this.
1) Show up 15 minutes early. (I did. Fat lot of good it did me, because I showed up 20 minutes early and I was still almost late thanks to some computer glitch that cancelled my app when I hit the "confirm" button.)
2) Take 600 MG Advil 1 hour before the appointment. (Well I forgot to do that until hubby reminded me when we got in the car. The good news is that by the time I got on the exam table it had been an hour.)
3) Bring in all your med bottles with the proper labels. (Weird, since all my med info is in the chart, but okay. I brought them. I should note, I'm in my tiny summer purse right now and two med bottles really made things crowded in there.)
Those were my instructions and I followed them.
I got weighed. Yay. I got blood pressured (it was a little high...go figure...) I got unclothed and covered with a sheet from the waist down and I got on the table.
Dr. Young Person came in and chatted about the weekend and the weather and the wait and all of that. Then she had me "SCOOCH" (so graceful) and she began her work "under the hood." (Hey, there was a hanging light, power tools, wrenches, a socket set and drop clothes. You tell me what else to call it.)
"You'll feel some pressure..."
Oh yeah I will.
"Now this will pinch."
"And you're going to feel some cramping."
Oh yes. Like day two of the worst punctuation ever.
Then we were done. And she land the nurse left. I dressed and noticed that there was...well there was some spotting on the paper sheet on the exam table.
Hey, know what they DIDN'T tell me to bring?
Yep, female punctuation protection. Oh good. And here I am with my summer purse full to the gills with med bottles no one asked to see.
I headed to the ladies room where I had to MacGyver some T.P. since I had zero change for the female punctuation protection machine. I wasn't worried...I mean, a little spotting is no big deal.
Nope, it was more than a little spotting. Cramps...clots...and all the other fun stuff I get every month.
Good lord, Female Doogie Houser pushed the eject button in my uterus!
We head to the car at a relatively brisk pace, and I tell Hubby all my symptoms and how this is weeks before I'm supposed to have them.
And Hubby, dear Hubby who came to support me and be my hero, says...."Well, the procedure confused your uterus. It's CONFUTERUS right now."
Some days that man of mine just makes it so easy!