Probably one of the most sadistic forms of medical examinations. From space, Google satellites can take an address, find your home, and zoom right into your bathroom so the world can see your husband plucking his nose hair. And here we are, in 2013, still having to drink half of the volume of the Great Lakes because the ultrasound machine cannot see your bladder.
No one can hold that much water.
Do they think it’s funny that we have to contort and twist our legs together so that we don’t pee our pants? Heck, our legs are wrapped around our crotch so tightly that our knickers turn into balloon animals?
I made this underwear dog for you Sally the ultrasound tech.
And I bet that it’s really hilarious for them to watch us walk to the exam room as if we were holding a dime in our baby canyon.
The best part comes when the tech tells you that you have drank too much water.
“You’re going to have to empty some of your bladder. But only this much,” she says as she hands you a cup.
So there you are in the bathroom, hovering over a thimble that they call a cup. “Stay strong,” you whisper to your urinary tract. Then on the count of 1, 2, 3 you let the flood gates go.
And you’re kind of amused that the pee stream resembles the mouth spout of a cherub in the middle of a decorative fountain.
You look down to see that the cup is almost at the fill line.
“You can stop now,” you tell your bladder plumbing.
Only you can’t.
“No seriously urethra. I don’t want pee all over—Yup, you’re peeing all over my hands. Now I’m flicking it off of my hands and it’s on the toilet seat. Where am I going to put the cup. On the floor? Oh great, the cup is leaving a pee ring on the floor.”
When all is finished, you look in the toilet because you’re fairly certain that you blew your bladder out of your body.
Last week when I was waiting for my coccyx x-ray, I thought of the teenie tiny similarities between my depression and a pelvic ultrasound.( And you all know how I like to breakdown mental illness in a way you can sort of understand.)
No one likes intense negative emotions and its only natural to ignore them instead of dealing with them. For me, refusing to acknowledge depression doesn’t mean that I am hiding it from others. I’m hiding it from myself.
It’s a classic case of putting your hands over your ears and reciting, ”LA LA LA. I can’t hear you so you’re not there.”
Or denial if you will.
Me: I’m not depressed. No, I’m just fine. Look, I’m enjoy this glitter that I’m rolling in. I just ate a marshmallow rainbow and I plan on petting a cute puppy today. I am smiling so much that my 5 year old son thinks that I’m scarier than the monster that lives under his bed and he’s never even seen the monster. I might even laugh.
Depression: Kim, I am right in front of you and I have your soul in a headlock. Feel it.
When I can’t ignore it, I find reasons to justify my deep sadness. The things that cause the sadness, I can fix.
Depression? It doesn’t have a reason and what I cannot see, I cannot fix.
Me: Nope. No way. I only locked myself in the bathroom and cried for 2 hours because I spilled coffee on my white pants and white shirt that earlier, someone had commented that I looked like a giant walking sperm.
Depression: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Depression: Why are you sad?
Me: Why are you sad who?
Depression: Because fuck you, that’s why.
If you’ve ever been there in that dark hole of depression, and I pray that you have not, you know how hard it is to prevent it from bleeding into every aspect of your life. Family, friends, job, your dog who looks at you with those begging brown eyes because you haven’t pet him in 2 days because it takes too much effort to lift your arms and when he wags his happy little tail you call him a god damned show off, etc. EVERYTHING is affected.
As much as you think that you can confine these intensely painful emotions in that small space of your mind, it is impossible.
It builds and builds until you find yourself locked up in a torturous self-prison. It’s busts at the seams just like holding the pacific ocean in your bladder for that pelvic ultrasound. When you eventually decide to let some of it out, you won’t be able to stop the ferocious emotions that you’ve contained for so long.
It may shoot out of your face and you won’t know where your tears end and your runny snot begins.
You may get hulk angry and start busting plates and attempting to rip doors off of their hinges.
You hate everyone and you let them know.
You hate everything.
You hate life.
And you hate yourself.
As painful and scary it is to feel depression, we have to acknowledge its existence.
It’s only then that we can begin to let it go and to start working on getting well again.