Today I had to go for a pelvic ultrasound. Nothing untoward is happening but I have some "female" things to attend to.
Firstly, I feel that I need to comment on how awful it must be for people who have multiple invasive medical examinations due to chronic poor health. I can only guess how dreary it must get once you are past the worry stage.
I have had a vast amount of ultrasounds and pelvic pokings over the past 25 years. And they do not get any easier as I get older. In fact, far from feeling okay about a prospective nosey in my private parts, I feel considerably more uncomfortable when they say those magic words "feet together and let your knees drop apart".
The last few ultrasounds were made more uncomfortable because the radiographers were male and half my age. Not that they cared, but I am at that "stage" in life where I am a little choosy about who I want investigating my twat.
But today was not so bad. A young girl was going to perform the task so that was okay. It has been almost three years since I last had one so I figured that was a pretty good run.
Prior to having a pelvic ultrasound you have to drink one litre of water one hour before your appointment. Then you have to hold on tight to enable the uterus to be accessible when they do the outer examination. One litre of water is a lot to drink and it seems even more to hang onto when you are lying on your back. After that unpleasant moment you then have go and have a pee before the "intravaginal ultrasound".
Yep, that is as bad as it sounds. There I was lying on my back, naked from the waist down, covered in a starched sheet and waiting for her to come back into the room to do the deed. As I am lying there in the dimly lit, peach coloured and uber spotless sterile room I see the tool of trade that she will be using on me. Six inches of something that looks like part from a vacuum cleaner, covered in a sheath of sterile plastic and there, perched on the top, is a GIANT blob of shiny lubricant. A great big thing quivering like a jelly fish.
Great. I can hardly wait.
After the longest 15 minutes I have had for a while, she kindly hands me two tissues.
"What is that for?" I ask her.
"Oh, you know, to wipe yourself," she answers and leaves the room to enable me to make myself decent.
Oh, yeah, right. Two tissues to get rid of what I had seen on the end of the thing she had just shoved up my clacker.
I don't think so.
I searched all the cupboards in the room (half naked of course) until I found some boxes of tissues and proceeded to help myself as I saw fit - and that was more than two I used. Oh, and they were about as smooth as sandpaper - talk about cheap and nasty.
Then, once I was dressed, dry and decent I had to go and pay $193.50 for the exciting event.
I think that was the worst bit actually.
Not quite the way I like to spend my hard earned cash.