If you’re squeamish about medical tests or uncomfortable reading about procedures involving a woman’s secret happy place you should turn back now and spare yourself this entry and me the negative feedback. If you’re leaving now, no hard feelings, bye bye and see you next time.
For those warriors still with me let’s start with the subject of pelvic sonograms. If you or a partner has gone through a pregnancy, you know that a pelvic sonogram is used to locate and monitor the fetus inside the womb and the procedure involves the patient needing to drink approximately a reservoir full of water. This is to help the ultrasound waves and ultimately the sonography technician locate the fetus because it is so tiny and could be hiding anywhere. I’m sure that’s oversimplified but let’s go with it.
There is another type of ultrasound called a transvaginal sonogram. If you pronounced that word in your head with a long ‘i’ as in vagina, that tells me you probably don’t have one so go back and say it over with a short ‘i’ and the accent on the second syllable instead of the third. Now you can say the word at a dinner party without fear of sounding ridiculous. This type of sonogram does not require water because it is to look at the ovaries and endometrial wall. Whereas the pregnancy sonogram uses a stethoscope-like disc that passes over the outer area, a transvaginal sonogram uses what looks like a narrow karaoke mic inserted inside and waved around to look at the ovaries. A probe cover that resembles a condom is placed over the karaoke mic before insertion for the patient’s protection and possibly for the karaoke mic who might have another date later.
The reason for this procedure is to monitor a previously discovered abnormality, let’s call it an ‘anomaly’, to make sure it doesn’t become troublesome in the future. So far I have been assured by any doctor who found one of my anomalies that it won’t be the cause of my eventual demise but the irony will not be wasted on me if it turns out it’s all the tests that ultimately kill me.
The day before my appointment, the lab called to remind me to drink lots of water. I reminded them that I was having a transvaginal sonogram and water wasn’t required. This would be my third one in as many years so I was pretty familiar with the protocol. They called back and said they don’t know what my other labs did but their technician required at least 48 ounces of water to be drunk beforehand to help locate the ovaries. I called my doctor’s office to get their opinion and was told to tell the lab that the doctor said no water was necessary for this procedure and if their technician needs help locating my ovaries I should find another lab.
Because I had already waited three weeks to get this over with I went ahead with it as scheduled after the lab said they’d do it according to my doctor’s instructions. The technician was a small woman about ten years older than me who struck me as a somewhat grim individual. The procedure took twice as long as it had the other times and I was starting to wonder if she was intentionally punishing me with the karaoke mic or if she really was having that much trouble locating my ovaries. Feeling so vulnerable both physically and emotionally tends to skew my ability to identify all the angles when I find myself in situations like this. But after it was over we came to the lecture part of our program and it all came clear.
We stood facing each other, she in her white lab coat with her arms crossed over my medical chart against her chest and me barefoot on the cold floor in a paper gown with a broken tie. “There are reasons we ask patients to follow certain rules,” she began. “This procedure took much longer than it had to because when we get old things sag. Just as the things on the outside of our body sag, so do our internal organs.” She was pointing her chin at my body as she spoke which was actually amusing since I’m 5’5″ and 115 lbs and although I’m not impervious to gravity it’s hard for things to noticeably sag that were never all that noticeable to begin with. Since her obvious intention was to insult me, I just smiled. Usually that aggravates insulting people without hurting me at all.
Then she did what professionals in a trusted position should never do: bring out the scare tactics simply because they can. “I caught two cases of bladder cancer this month that would have otherwise gone undetected and it would be a shame if there was something here that I missed because the bladder wasn’t filled.” She stared straight at me and said, “Who else is going to look at your bladder?” Normally I would say, “Anyone who buys me a drink can look at my bladder” but she didn’t deserve such a great wisecrack and all I could think was you’re just a mean little troll, aren’t you? If there was a question on the sonography final that said Are you a mean little troll? you would have to check yes, wouldn’t you?
Too annoyed now to smile, I gathered my clothes and stood facing her. “I’m sure the report sent to my doctor’s office will reflect all your extra effort and she’ll call you to discuss any questions she has. I will tell her about this test and to ask for you by name.” That would be Nurse Ratched, right?
A disturbing experience warrants disturbing pictures. Daughter took these when her Science for Teachers grad school class dissected a chicken. If you didn’t bail in the first paragraph, there’s still time.
starting the chicken dissection
look at the flexible skin
check out that cross section action
help!