Ask me no questions while you’ve got that thing inside me.

It took me a while, after that ultrasound, to figure out why the whole thing didn’t sit right.

Of course, there’s what I said last week, a few hours after the fact: That I’d like to be a more perfect patient. And who wouldn’ t really? Certainly the nurses and techs and doctors save out the good drugs for the ones they like, right? The ones who are cute and personable and can manage some kind of poise while scooting their butt up to the edge of the exam table. I didn’t feel all poised and articulate. And cute and personable is always a stretch.

To this, the answer, I know, is that there are women who have been on this road longer and way, way harder than I have, who are saying, fuck articulate and personable, how about sane, how about preserving a scrap of dignity, how about staying alive to your body?

Besides that, there’s the fact this little viewing of my innards was such a big deal for me (I’d waited for this start of treatment for for six months before even getting in for a consultation, not to mention weeks of waiting for my period, etc.) and it lasted all of three seconds and was clearly, clearly one of three bazillion vaginal ultrasounds this tech would do that day.

And the answer to that is, get used to it, suck it up, it’s going to be a long ride.

Ok.

But here is what’s unacceptable: While the tech was doing the ultrasound and calling things out in secret ultrasound tech code to Sweet Nurse Jane, Sweet Nurse Jane was also asking me questions. Asking me medical history stuff, and what dose of metformin I’m on, etc. etc. etc.

I felt like I was in sensory overload. And no wonder.

Is this acceptable anywhere else? In any other setting? Something technological is in my vagina and I’m supposed to be chit-chatting with a nurse about stuff that’s already in my chart? Is there any other kind of medical exam where they double-team you like that and expect your body to be examined while your mind and mouth answer questions? Have I just had mercifully little medical treatment in my life?

It doesn’t seem right. From now on, I answer no questions until after the probe is withdrawn, dammit.

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One thought on “Ask me no questions while you’ve got that thing inside me.

  1. Geez, I thought I was the only one who got to play twenty questions while they were playing roto-rooter.

    Worst question: “So, exactly what other treatments did you have in mind?” Like I could form a coherent response to that with some stupid stupid GYN’s hand up my hoohoo, cranking on my ovaries and making me cry.

    Most absurd question: “So, how’s college going?”

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