On Monday, I found myself in a familiar place - on a table with a Wii controller poking around in my goodies, while a doctor looks for The Amazing Disappearing Follicyst/Cysticle. This time, she's accompanied by a young woman, who is introduced to me as a resident.
However, this supposed "resident" (and yes, I'm making air quote fingers) was not wearing a white lab coat, or a clip-on ID badge, as one would expect a hospital staff member to wear. She was a semi-bashful young woman in a skirt and sweater set, and the more I think about it, the more I feel that I should have asked for some ID. For all I know, this was Take Your Grown Daughter to Work to Vaginally Probe a Stranger Day. I suppose I'll never know.
So, the impostor gingerly bumps the wand around and of course, the attending doctor then helpfully shows her that she was not PUSHING DOWN (oof) with enough FORCE (grunt).
"I feel like I'm going to pee now. Like, forcefully."
This did not perturb either of them in the least. After a few more deeply awkward moments, I was told my ovaries were Follicyst/Cysticle free and given the go-ahead to commence sub-cutaneous injections.
That started yesterday. And...well...so far, it's been fairly easy. The needle is small and thin, and slides quite smoothly into my nice, convenient ripple o'abdominal fat. It's almost strange how quickly one becomes accustomed to sticking teeny needles into oneself. I could have been doing this all along! Back in high school, when I'd go out for the evening with friends, my mother would always say, "Be home by 11:30 and don't shoot any heroin into your eyeballs." A grotesque image, to be sure, but had I only known, I could have been shooting things into my belly instead! Oh, for opportunities lost.
Until next time...