thinking of England
Today saw me flat on my back, legs akimbo, with a doctor sporting a miner's headlamp, carrying a warm speculum and getting comfy at my feet.
Ah yes, I was a true vision of loveliness.
Meanwhile, at the business end of things, my cervix is really, really shy. The lump that appeared in my throat as I entered the examination room? My uterus. That thing must be jammed up that high and sharing room space with my thyroid because the doctor could not find anything resembling the requisite-and usually attached-cervix anywhere it should've been . With all the turning and winding of the speculum that went on as she tried to view the damn thing, if she'd let go of my feet, I'd have been spinning in an anti clockwise direction right there on the examination table for quite some time.
Well now. Once we've cleared that amusing visual from our minds, we'll sally forth, shall we?
Once located, my uterus proved itself and is, in a word, fabulous. Now while I'm pretty stoic (read: in denial), I was a leetle bit scared of finding out that I've been lugging around the classic model T uterus that characterises DES exposure. I don't, so moving right along to....
My fallopian tubes! Old lefty was as happy as a clam and spilling contrast into my peritoneal cavity with gay abandon. (Yes, I know that when I talk like this it makes you want me, bad, but what can I do? It's a curse being this sexy) Meanwhile ol' righty was in some seedy bar on the other side of town, smoking cigarettes and drinking tequila shots off some cheap hooker's belly or something, cuz she sure as shit wasn't doing anything useful inside your's truly, not while we were watching anyway.
But! (she says, index finger in the air)
This is good news.
I needed medical proof that I'm infertile, or at least have a medical condition preventing conception, and this is it, folks! Three cheers for the blockage at the distal end of my right fallopian tube! (hi hip hooray etc) Looking at that tube stubbornly refuse to regurgitate its contents, if there was ever a pants on head moment, this was it.
But! I didn't know that yet, so I got to wring my hands until I saw Dr Alf some two hours later. He took one look and promptly declared me medically incompetent to conceive at my own volition. Actually, I declared me that. He said something else that meant much the same thing, but with a lot less flourish. He did smile a lot though, and then he shook my hand because guess what? I'm doing IVF!!
*quizzical look*
Having IVF?
Ah yes, I was a true vision of loveliness.
Meanwhile, at the business end of things, my cervix is really, really shy. The lump that appeared in my throat as I entered the examination room? My uterus. That thing must be jammed up that high and sharing room space with my thyroid because the doctor could not find anything resembling the requisite-and usually attached-cervix anywhere it should've been . With all the turning and winding of the speculum that went on as she tried to view the damn thing, if she'd let go of my feet, I'd have been spinning in an anti clockwise direction right there on the examination table for quite some time.
Well now. Once we've cleared that amusing visual from our minds, we'll sally forth, shall we?
Once located, my uterus proved itself and is, in a word, fabulous. Now while I'm pretty stoic (read: in denial), I was a leetle bit scared of finding out that I've been lugging around the classic model T uterus that characterises DES exposure. I don't, so moving right along to....
My fallopian tubes! Old lefty was as happy as a clam and spilling contrast into my peritoneal cavity with gay abandon. (Yes, I know that when I talk like this it makes you want me, bad, but what can I do? It's a curse being this sexy) Meanwhile ol' righty was in some seedy bar on the other side of town, smoking cigarettes and drinking tequila shots off some cheap hooker's belly or something, cuz she sure as shit wasn't doing anything useful inside your's truly, not while we were watching anyway.
But! (she says, index finger in the air)
This is good news.
I needed medical proof that I'm infertile, or at least have a medical condition preventing conception, and this is it, folks! Three cheers for the blockage at the distal end of my right fallopian tube! (hi hip hooray etc) Looking at that tube stubbornly refuse to regurgitate its contents, if there was ever a pants on head moment, this was it.
But! I didn't know that yet, so I got to wring my hands until I saw Dr Alf some two hours later. He took one look and promptly declared me medically incompetent to conceive at my own volition. Actually, I declared me that. He said something else that meant much the same thing, but with a lot less flourish. He did smile a lot though, and then he shook my hand because guess what? I'm doing IVF!!
*quizzical look*
Having IVF?
posted by aibee at 19:15
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