Okay, first things first: Welcome to LOUNE, and alla you making water noises yesterday will pay in Hell. 
So, on with the story …
I left work yesterday in the kind of torment reserved for child molesters and people who talk too much at the theatre (Lissla will get that, if no one else does). By the time I got to the Imaging Center, I had to pee again so bad that I could barely walk. I went in and went through all my information with the Desk Lady, and she told me to be seated, someone would be with me momentarily. I replied “Seriously, I can’t sit down.” She kindly offered to let me go relieve my bladder a little. A little?? How do you pee a little? The answer is, ladies–you just suddenly stand up and hope you’ve got some good muscle control.
In for the ultrasound. The tech who was taking care of me was enormously pregnant, so I thought she’d be a little gentle. Nuh-uh. The over-the-belly rolly-part wasn’t so bad, except when she pushed on the still-pretty-full bladder. Then I discovered what “Gynecological Ultrasound with TV” means. See, rather than the TV meaning I’d get a little home video of my ovaries, the TV stands for trans-vaginal. So once again with the alien probe (although I was allowed to pee first). The thing is, unlike the doctor, the tech handed me the probe–I had a do-it-yourself ultrasound. And she didn’t show me the monitor like my doctor did, so I had no idea what was going on.
Then, I got farmed out to the CT center. where I was sat down in a Laz-Z-Boy while a very nice nurse named Don who looked a little bit like Santa asked me questions and told me about the CT. He then asked what flavor of contrast I would like to imbibe. “We have Banana, Berry, and Citrus–all equally bad.” I chose banana. It was pretty bad, but not nearly as bad as it could have been. Don gave me my first-ever IV hookup (accusing me of leaving my veins at home) and sent me off to what was labeled as the FEMALE WAITING ROOM (though I didn’t see the male one) to wait and drink my banana crud while watching Oprah. Oprah was getting her own CT on the show yesterday, so all sorts of techs kept running in to watch.
Then a nice lady who introduced herself as Diane came in to tell me I could drink the last cup of banana crud, and I needed to take off my bra if I happened to be wearing an underwire. Which, of course, I was. So I went to the bathroom (because I had to pee again) and took care of that, then when I came out a rather studly young man in scrubs led me into the room with the big machine. (Of course, I run into the one hot guy in the hospital while run down, braless, and full of banana crud.) I had been under the impression that I’d have to get undressed and put on one of those gowny things with no butt coverage, but all I had to do was pull my jeans down to my knees–didn’t even take my shoes off! (Studly Guy got me a blanket and left the room, naturally–I wasn’t feeling my sexiest.)
Diane told me all about what was going to happen, then gave me the IV contrast. “Now, it’s going to feel a little warm, but it won’t be painful–like a hot flash. You’ll feel it probably most in your face and your pelvic area.” To which I think That’s not so bad, it’s kinda chilly in here, a hot flash might be welc–holy crap, my coochie is on fire!!! But then it stopped, and it was okay, and they took all the pictures and the machine talked to me and told me to hold my breath, and all was well.
Then Diane asked me if I wanted a moment to put my bra back on before I left, and I decided that it wasn’t worth the time, as I’d just be taking it off when I got home, anyway.
And that was the adventure. My doctor called around 8 p.m. to let me know he already had the results. The ultrasound seemed to find only one cyst, meaning the littler one had either just plain gone away, or been eaten by the bigger one. The Imaging Center’s treatment suggestion was the same as my doctor’s–wait and check again. So, I go back to the doctor in about two weeks, and we see what happens from there.
I still hurt a little, but I’m loads more relaxed about it. All in all, a good medical experience. Except for the part where I had to do my own alien probe, of course.
And no, I’m not too picky about chocolate, although I’m not too fond of that cheap, waxy, bizzarro pseudo chocolate stuff wrapped in colorful foil that passes for Halloween and Easter treats. Some of that stuff is just scary… And while chocolate and marshmallow is ok, chocolate and peanut butter is WAY OK!
Plus he’s an old geezer, and he tries to upgrade his social status by telling all and sundry that I permitted him to take me to dinner once. Poor old guy. Pathetic. Harmless, but pathetic…