Adventures in Health Care.

I had to have an ultrasound yesterday, and no, it's not because I am pregnant. Suffice it to say, at my physical a few weeks ago, the doctor wanted to get a better look at some of my innards. If you have never had an abdominal ultrasound, let me fill you in on what you have to do. First, it is imperative that your bladder is really full when this is done. They recommend that you drink "four large glasses of water at least an hour before your appointment", their emphasis, not mine. They say this gives them a better look at your bits and pieces by getting a bit more pressure from the inside. I think it's to stop you from hanging around and asking too many questions. Just to tell you, my bladder is the tiniest of all bladders ever created. I arrive everywhere having to go to the bathroom. I ration out liquids with the precision of an American general planning an invasion; my bladder is a finely tuned machine. Ask my mother, I've always been this way. She claims she knew where every public washroom in a hundred square miles was located when I was a kid. The Mister can't figure out why I need a bathroom stop on the way to the mall. I drank one large glass of water on the way to the appointment, about 20 minutes away. By the time I had filled out the paperwork I ready to go. The waiting room was full of panicky, desperate, slightly frantic women of all ages, looking at the clock every two seconds with a slightly deranged look in their eyes and a palpable air of anguish. Every time the technicians came and called someone in, there was a collective sigh of envy and grief. You would not want to spend ten seconds in that room, lest you gave up all hope for a happy life. After a mercifully short wait, I got called in. The technician was a very nice looking young man with a devastatingly beautiful voice. It was not simply because he called my name that I thought so, he really did have a lovely, deep, rich tenor voice that made me want to listen to him all day He got me on the table, and instructed me to lie down and arrange my clothing thus, and then, in that beautiful, melodious voice that sounded like the angels themselves were calling out to you, he said, "Your bladder is really nice and full". Which struck me as so funny coming out from that face and voice that I nearly laughed out loud. Which would have rendered that sentiment as completely false. I managed to make it through the 10 minutes or so of him plopping a wallop of cold, gooey gel on my stomach and then rummaging all over my abdomen to find the required bits and pieces. At the end of the procedure, he said, again in that dulcet murmur "You can use the toilet around the corner", which made me wonder what would be the worst, most unattractive thing he could say in that voice, and still make it sound like George Clooney and Morgan Freeman were here in the room with me...perhaps or "is that smell coming from you?" or "you really should have that looked at" or "that's one hell of a cold sore". This amused me no end until the end of the appointment. At least I made it back to the salon with only two pit stops on the way.