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7:26 p.m. - Tuesday, Jan. 11, 2005
Weird Science
Second close encounter with Mr. One-Eyed Dildo, not so bad. At least I knew what to expect. But this technician today was really fanatical about waiting until my bladder was REALLY REALLY FULL before she started pushing down on it with the ultrasound thingie.
Didn't help that I can't do simple arithmetic and drank more than the required 32-ounces-one-hour-before-the-procedure because I thought 16 + 16 = 24. By the time I remembered it's 32, I was halfway through my third 16-ounce bottle of Fruit2O.
Anyway. It's over now.
I asked my doctor about the recovery time for a hysterectomy. He told me: you shouldn't drive a car for two weeks afterwards, and most women take a six-week medical leave from their jobs to recover.
WOW!!!!!!!
COOL!!!!!!!!
Only my doctor seemed very reluctant to be so radical. He intimated that the insurance company and the Tissue Committee, and whatever other watchdog bodies he named that I can't remember, would look askance upon such knife-happy behavior.
If it turns out to be cancer, of course, that will be another story. But I don't believe for a minute that it's cancer. I've also stopped believing that I could ever possibly win the lottery.
......Humans are so weird, aren't they? For the second part of the procedure, I have to get undressed below the waist. The technician says, "You can draw the curtain ... and I've put the sheet on the bed there." For me to hide the process of undressing, and then to cover my naughty bits, you understand.
We both know that those naughty bits exist: they are the very purpose of my being in that room. In short order the technician will be leaning over my bent leg and manipulating Mr. One-Eyed Dildo deep in my naughty bits. Finally, we both know what those naught bits look like. So why is it so goddamn important that they not be seen?
Afterwards, too, when I'm getting up to go into the bathroom and get dressed again, when my first impulse is just to walk in there with my naked ass hanging out below my shirt — I stop and wrap the sheet around me, thinking: it's not just a question of my own modesty; I'm sure the technicians don't want to see all that naked assery. They'd think me very odd indeed if I were to walk around with my naughty bits blowing in the wind.
And yet we've just been intimately, and I mean INTIMATELY, minutely, in great detail, exploring those selfsame naughty bits.
Humans are so weird!!!!!!
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