That is perhaps the most clever title I’ve ever come up with.
I Twittered today that I was going in to have my womb biopsied. I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it in a post, and a quick Twitter seemed safe.
(And thank you to all of you who DM’ed me to wish me well.)
I’ve been experiencing “girl problems” for the last little while. And I’ll spare all 4 of my male readers (and this includes Fiddledaddy) the gory details for fear that your eyes will roll into the back of your head, just before you hit the floor.
After some various testing and an ultrasound (and NO, I’m not pregnant), my doctor wanted to rule a few things out by proceeding with an in-office uteral lining biopsy.
And because my doctor has met me, she gave me a prescription for Codeine, to be taken 30 minutes before the procedure.
Which meant that I would need an escort.
Praise God for Aunt Trish, we dumped the kids off at her place prior to the appointment, and Fiddledaddy accompanied me to the office.
So, it was kind of like a date.
But without the romance.
I did, however, score a Turkey Club from the drive-thru at Steak-n-Shake.
I chose to wear all black to the procedure, even though it was a balmy 145 degrees here in Florida. Because I’m Johnny Cash. And I walk the line.
There was an important decision to be made. Should I take the medication on the way, or when I get there? I didn’t want to take it too soon, for fear everyone would be forced to step over me in the waiting room.
And taking it too late would just mean that everyone would be subjected to my whining and crying.
I opted to take it when I arrived, and hoped that the doctor was running exactly 30 minutes behind.
I asked to use the facilities. It was then that I was told I would have to leave a specimen while in there.
WHAT? I haven’t had to pee in a cup since I gave birth to Jensen. In fact, when I was pregnant, the medical professionals always sent me home with a specimen cup so that I could fill ‘er up in the sanctity of my own bathroom. I simply can’t perform under pressure.
However, my bladder was nervous too, and I achieved success.
I carefully set the cup on the tray provided in the restroom, after I lined it with a paper towel. And then washed my hands three or 15 times.
And I left. Hoping above all hopes that no one would enter after me and pour a little diet coke into the cup just to mess with me. (This was a fear only because I’ve thought about doing it. But I never ever did. Promise.)
I sat back down in the waiting room praying for the magical pill to take affect. And to pass the time, I read the latest copy of Entertainment Weekly, while scribbling my Last Will and Testament in the margin.
Fiddledaddy sat calmly beside me, watching out of the corner of his eye to see if I was going to go postal.
Medical procedures? I am not brave at these.
We were called after 15 minutes. Slowly, oh so slowly, I shuffled in. I was then asked to step on the scales. It seems I had lost a couple of pound from All The Worrying. And I didn’t even have to completely disrobe in the hall to net the lowest weight possible, like I usually do.
Good news for the staff at the doctor’s office!
The procedure itself was no picnic. But I have a wonderful doctor who I trust like no other. She would totally understand if I should say, kick her, in reaction to the pain.
Fiddledaddy held my hand. I think the circulation is just now coming back to his fingers, all these hours later.
After everything was over, I asked my doctor if I could go to the gym tomorrow. (Secretly wishing she would say no.) Alas, she said I could. Then Fiddledaddy quipped, “Will she be able to cook dinner tonight?”
He’s a riot.
The codeine did finally take affect in earnest when we arrived home. Whereupon I took to my deathbed.
We’ll get the results in about 7 to 10 days. But they only gave me a few little magical pills. The nerve. Not nearly enough to last till the results come back. Or enough even to share with Fiddledaddy who has to put up with me until then.
In all honesty, I’m really fine. (But you’ve got to know I’m going to milk this for all it’s worth. And I’ve been really hurting for good blog fodder.)
I’m not a bit worried about anything. I rest comfortably knowing that God has His hand on me.
While my hand is on the phone dialing “take away service” at Carrabbas.