My “I don’t want to do diddly shit” day was rudely interrupted when I got a phone call from the very bubbly radiologist. I could tell that she loved her job because there is not enough coffee in this entire world to make a person so full of perky life at 8am. Either that or she was really good at bullshitting in which case I need to take some notes for when I return to work on Monday. I can’t imagine that working with a person who poots glitter and smiles all day is easy to work with. Poot? It’s my new favourite word.
Glitter Pooter called to remind me that my pelvic ultrasound appointment was at 11:40 and that I needed to refer to the instructions I recieved for “preparation”. So I searched my office (office meaning the top of my microwave because that’s where we keep all the important papers and where I strategically slip in my MasterCard bill for my husband to pay) and found the pelvic ultrasound instructions. Basically it said:
Start drinking a shit ton of water 2 hours prior to your appointment and try not to piss yourself.
What’s a shit ton of water you ask? It’s enough water to make your eyes cross. It’s enough water that you stop breathing because heaven forbid you may sneeze. It’s enough water that you lose the circulation in your legs as your waistband cuts into your expanding bladder. It’s enough water that you think that holding your crotch and twirling around your kitchen as you squeeze your inner thighs together will prevent it from seeping. It’s enough water that when you open your mouth and say “Ah!” you can see your kidney’s floating.
In other words, it’s a torturous amount of water.
Before I began drinking I had to have a little chit chat with my willpower cause lawd knows that drinking enough water to feed an entire 3rd world country needs a lot of focus to hold it all in.
“Dear Willpower. Willie. Will. WP. I need you to step it up today. I need you to keep my mind off the fact that my bladder is about as full as Kim Kardashian’s ass. I need you to stay stronger than the levies in New Orleans. I need you to resist the urge to pee. We can do this. Amen”
Down went the first of a million glasses and skip to 2 hours later.
At 11:35am, I arrived at the check in counter and was hoping the glitter pooter was there. I needed to pee very badly and she was the one who was going to save me, but alas, I got stuck with “I hate you and don’t care if you’re going to pass out because the urging pain of urination is so intense” lady. She escorted me to the “inner” waiting room and I slowly lowered myself into the seat making sure that the button on my jeans didn’t dig into my bladder. The sign on the door to the ultrasound room said “Exam in progress. Do not enter.”
Fuck. Great, I thought.
So there I waited…and waited…and waited. A worker came around the corner and I stopped her. “Lady, I have to pee so bad. How long is the wait.” She started to giggle at me. It was Glitter Pooter.
Glitter Pooter: “Oh, I’m sorry honey, but we had to squeeze in this pregnant woman today. We tried to get the ultrasound last night but the baby wasn’t cooperating.”
Me: “Well can someone yell in that woman’s vagina and tell that baby to start posing like it’s on America’s Next Top Model cause I think I’m going to wet my pants”
Glitter Pooter: “Ok. Hang on there sweetie. I’ll see how long it will be.”
Glitter Pooter disappeared behind the door. I could hear talking and laughing and ooohhhhs and ahhhhss and the sound of what could have been Glitter Pooter’s uterus exploding. Then the door opened. Glitter Pooter was followed by the radiologist and the pregnant lady who was staring in awe over the glamour shots that they took of her fetus. She looked so blissfully proud in that moment and I almost took her down as I ran into the room while unzipping my pants.
Radiologist: “My! Someone has done this a few times.”
Me: “OH. MAH. GAWD. I need to pee so bad. Can we get this over with?”
She chuckled and sat down. Slopped the goopy stuff across my lower abdomen. I held my breath and started to count to a bazillion as I saw the wand come crashing full force into my full bladder.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t breathe.
Before the words I’m done left her lips, my pants were already around my ankles and I was running towards the bathroom. I quickly dropped my fat ass on the toilet seat and proceeded to pee. It was almost euphoric as I felt my bladder deflate and I was about to sigh in relief when I heard the radiologist clear her throat.
Radiologist: Ah hem ugh cough cough. Let me shut that door for you.
Meh…I’m used to having company when I pee.
Note: Cyst is still there, however the radiologist said that it would NEVER CAUSE A BACK INJURY. So employer? Suck it. I have to wait a week to get the report from my doctor. Hopefully, that bugger didn’t grow.