Generally speaking, I avoid going to the doctor whenever I can. I’m not afraid, I just find them unpleasant. Updating your insurance, sitting in a waiting room full of random sick people, waiting to be called in so a complete stranger can start poking and prodding you.
I particularly dislike the gynecologist. All of the above apply, but in addition, a complete stranger is going to stick a large metal device up your hoo-ha and poke around, which makes you swear to God that you will never have sex ever, ever again as long as that horrible thing gets taken out right fucking now. Then, they want to poke your ta-tas as hard as possible, causing immense pain (which they mistakenly describe as “discomfort”) all the while scolding you for never doing a self breast exam.
I’m not poking myself like this, bitch! I don’t like feeling pain!
But the worst, the absolute worst of all medical examinations I have had to endure as a woman is the pelvic ultrasound. (I’m not saying it’s the worst medical procedure ever. I’m just saying it’s the worst one I’ve had to put up with that didn’t involve actual surgery.)
I know. The ultrasound is a wonderful device that helps you check on the health of your growing baby. You can see its little heartbeat and its tiny little feet.
Well, la-de-freakin-da for you. I’m not pregnant. I just have a weird pelvic anatomy, so every so often I have to go to have things checked out.
First, they tell you to drink 5 million and 3 gallons of water before your appointment. And not just right before your appointment. You have to finish drinking unnatural amounts of water an hour before your appointment starts, and then you have to hold it. Evidently you cannot possibly have a decent ultrasound unless your bladder is so full that you may explode at any moment. Seriously, once I almost peed on the technician. You can imagine how embarrassing that would have been.
After you start to float away on your bladder of unnatural size, you check in at the counter. Oh, it will just be a short wait, they tell you. A short wait turns into 15 minutes of absolute agony, with each passing second bringing you closer and closer to the brink of insanity. Tick, tick, tick. Each second on the clock brings another drip of urine from your kidneys into your already overflowing bladder. You pray for kidney failure, just to end the misery. You contemplate going to the bathroom and squatting over the toilet, just to pretend that you can pee. Maybe you can trick your body into feeling relief. But no. The ultrasound demands a full bladder. Sweat forms on your brow as you force yourself to think about anything but the pulsing, swishing, sloshing, constant pain coming from your loins.
Then, they finally call your name to come back. You sprint across the room, practically undressing right there in order to speed the process along as much as possible. They walk you back, forcing you to walk right past a freakin bathroom. No relief is in sight for you yet. You still have to endure the ultrasound itself.
At this point, you are practically delirious. You can’t remember why your doctor sent you there. All you can remember is the water, oh god, the water. They begin the exam. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up... JESUS MOTHERF*ING CHRIST WHY AREN’T YOU FINISHED YET?!?!? You envision all the ways you could end the misery. You could scream for help. You could kick the ultrasound machine, rendering it useless. You could pee on the technician. But deep down inside, you know that none of these options will end your suffering, because a) somebody will get really mad at you and b) they’ll just make you do the god damn ultrasound all over again.
The longer the examination continues, the harder the wand seems to press on your bladder. Yes, there is my bladder. It is the GIANT WHITE THING on the screen. Why in the name of all that is holy and good are you still looking at it?! The images on the screen change. It’s all a blur to you, but the technician seems to think he knows what he’s looking at. (Personally, I think they’re making shit up.) “Hmmmm,” the technician says. Hmmm?! That’s all you’ve got?! I’m dying here! “I’m having a hard time getting a good picture because your bladder is so full. Why don’t you go and empty it and we’ll see if we can get something better?”
As you race to the bathroom, you realize what a sham it all is. And you swear that if you ever stop peeing, you’re going to kill all of these bastards. Because they knew all along that your bladder was going to be too full, and they just wanted you to suffer.
I particularly dislike the gynecologist. All of the above apply, but in addition, a complete stranger is going to stick a large metal device up your hoo-ha and poke around, which makes you swear to God that you will never have sex ever, ever again as long as that horrible thing gets taken out right fucking now. Then, they want to poke your ta-tas as hard as possible, causing immense pain (which they mistakenly describe as “discomfort”) all the while scolding you for never doing a self breast exam.
I’m not poking myself like this, bitch! I don’t like feeling pain!
But the worst, the absolute worst of all medical examinations I have had to endure as a woman is the pelvic ultrasound. (I’m not saying it’s the worst medical procedure ever. I’m just saying it’s the worst one I’ve had to put up with that didn’t involve actual surgery.)
I know. The ultrasound is a wonderful device that helps you check on the health of your growing baby. You can see its little heartbeat and its tiny little feet.
Well, la-de-freakin-da for you. I’m not pregnant. I just have a weird pelvic anatomy, so every so often I have to go to have things checked out.
First, they tell you to drink 5 million and 3 gallons of water before your appointment. And not just right before your appointment. You have to finish drinking unnatural amounts of water an hour before your appointment starts, and then you have to hold it. Evidently you cannot possibly have a decent ultrasound unless your bladder is so full that you may explode at any moment. Seriously, once I almost peed on the technician. You can imagine how embarrassing that would have been.
After you start to float away on your bladder of unnatural size, you check in at the counter. Oh, it will just be a short wait, they tell you. A short wait turns into 15 minutes of absolute agony, with each passing second bringing you closer and closer to the brink of insanity. Tick, tick, tick. Each second on the clock brings another drip of urine from your kidneys into your already overflowing bladder. You pray for kidney failure, just to end the misery. You contemplate going to the bathroom and squatting over the toilet, just to pretend that you can pee. Maybe you can trick your body into feeling relief. But no. The ultrasound demands a full bladder. Sweat forms on your brow as you force yourself to think about anything but the pulsing, swishing, sloshing, constant pain coming from your loins.
Then, they finally call your name to come back. You sprint across the room, practically undressing right there in order to speed the process along as much as possible. They walk you back, forcing you to walk right past a freakin bathroom. No relief is in sight for you yet. You still have to endure the ultrasound itself.
At this point, you are practically delirious. You can’t remember why your doctor sent you there. All you can remember is the water, oh god, the water. They begin the exam. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up... JESUS MOTHERF*ING CHRIST WHY AREN’T YOU FINISHED YET?!?!? You envision all the ways you could end the misery. You could scream for help. You could kick the ultrasound machine, rendering it useless. You could pee on the technician. But deep down inside, you know that none of these options will end your suffering, because a) somebody will get really mad at you and b) they’ll just make you do the god damn ultrasound all over again.
The longer the examination continues, the harder the wand seems to press on your bladder. Yes, there is my bladder. It is the GIANT WHITE THING on the screen. Why in the name of all that is holy and good are you still looking at it?! The images on the screen change. It’s all a blur to you, but the technician seems to think he knows what he’s looking at. (Personally, I think they’re making shit up.) “Hmmmm,” the technician says. Hmmm?! That’s all you’ve got?! I’m dying here! “I’m having a hard time getting a good picture because your bladder is so full. Why don’t you go and empty it and we’ll see if we can get something better?”
As you race to the bathroom, you realize what a sham it all is. And you swear that if you ever stop peeing, you’re going to kill all of these bastards. Because they knew all along that your bladder was going to be too full, and they just wanted you to suffer.
