One Step Closer

Had my ultrasound today. I'd never had one before, so other than movies involving pregnancy, I had no idea what to expect.

I drank my four 8 oz. glasses two hours before the appointment, promptly felt like I was going to burst, gave in and went to the bathroom--it didn't help I had a puppy walking on my stomach. Then I started all over again with half the amount of water, and spent the ride to the clinic thinking of nothing else but how full I was--and how bumpy the roads have gotten. I walked so fast into that clinic, sat in the waiting room for an agonizing couple of minutes, then was called into a change room to put on one of those fashionable open-back gowns. I sat there waiting to be called again, too tense and uncomfortable to read my book, knees jiggling desperately as I listened to other women finish their scans and go into the washroom. I started to loathe that flush sound. Oh, how it mocked me.

When the cute young ultrasound technician brought me into a dark, quiet room, I could barely lie in the examination chair with my legs straight. She asked me questions about past pregnancies and such, which I can only vaguely remember through the painful awareness that I was about to explode. I think I may have explained Finasteride, for her to understand why I wasn't quite sure when my last period was. A quick spurt of gel and a pass with transducer and it was determined that yeah, I was so full I was making the image blurry.

Once we resolved that issue, it was really just like I expected, squelching the transducer through the blue goo. The only sound was the beeps of an image being taken. I watched the reflection of the screen in the frame of a flat-screen tv used for displaying babies in utero, but it all looked like gibberish to me. Still, I wished I could have watched. Those were my insides on that screen, and I thought that was just incredible.

The endo had warned the exam would be transvaginal, and so I treated today like some women might treat a "date night." Let's just say, I was especially well-groomed for the occasion. But after pressing around on my stomach for a while, the technician brought the scans to a doctor, then said I could go. I was half relieved, trusting that was all she needed, and half simply unable to find the words to say, "Miss, I think we were supposed to go to third base, here." I can't account for where my mind goes in stressful medical situations. It wasn't until I had dressed and was on my way home that I realized I might not have done the right scan. I know you certainly can look at ovaries with a transpelvic exam, but I don't know if you'd see the whole picture that way. I guess if the endocrinologist gets the results back and thinks there's something missing, she'll let me know.

I feel like an enormous mug for not asking while I was naked from the waist down and covered in goo. But, the upside is, if I have to go back for another one, at least I know how much not to drink.