TMI (Guys, Cover Yer Eyes)
After Scarface week, my OB told me he wanted to do an endometrial biopsy, to rule out cancer as the cause of the Red Plague. He told me it would be a simple procedure, just a quick ride in the stirrups, and he’d know the results in a few days.
This morning I got to the appointment very cheery-like. I never have a bad time in the stirrups…hell, sometimes I LOVE being in the stirrups (recent ‘wand’ experience notwithstanding). The nurse took my vitals, handed me a sheet, and told me to strip from the waist down and cover with the sheet. Then as she was leaving to get the OB, she said, “It’ll only hurt for a few minutes.”
No one said ANYthing about "hurt".
I'm a big cry-baby.
Maybe she had the wrong patient.
My OB came in, we chatted about the next step in our little adventure (putting me on Super-De-Duper Low Dose Pill), and he had me saddle up.
While I was ass-over-end, before he started, he said, “I’m going to insert this thin tube (he held it up…it was as long as his forearm, with a grabber on the end) in your cervix, and take a sample of blood. (Gah, said my brain.) You’ll experience some cramping afterward, and it will hurt. It will. But only for a minute.”
I’m really glad I didn’t know this before I came in, as I have a tendency to Freak The Fack Out over procedures I know will hurt.
Except childbirth, which I did freak out about, but not in the ginormous proportions I should have.
Anyway, he said, “Little touch”, clamped the spreader in my Lovey Hole, announced loudly, “Okay, it’s gonna hurt NOW,” and went in for the kill.
He wasn’t kidding.
I pressed my fingernails hard into my palms, tensed every muscle and fibre of my being, and gritted through my teeth. I wanted a hand to squeeze, or a bunch of celery to twist, or a bullet to shove...er...or a wintergreen mint to make sparks.
It was over in a minute, but holy craaaap-ola, that was not pleasant.
He put the seat back under my ass, lowered the stirrup chair, and told me he’d have the Pill prescription ready outside when I was dressed. He left, and the nurse smiled at me, handing me a sanitary pad in a box. “You’ll need this”, she said. Fack. “You’ll cramp for a while”, she added, “so take some Motrin.”
I got the cramping, I got the bleeding.
At least it’ll rule out the big ‘C’.
I’m glad they didn’t tell me beforehand.
I would have been a pathetic excuse for a patient today.