Like I Said...The Jones Catheter

You know how they always tell you, at the doctor or dentist, that things are going to hurt worse than they actually will, so they can prepare you for the worst, and then the extreme discomfort will feel like they're doing you some kind of favor, going easy on you? That is not how it was with my hysteroscopy. That $hit hurt just as much as they said it would.

Which is amazing, cause they loaded me up with valium and vicodin, plus some shot of anti-inflammatory, plus a local anesthetic (I am so glad I could not see or feel needles in the nether region, mind you). But Dr. A did warn me that my "challenging" cervix might make things tougher. And she was right. Clamps and catheters and an ultrasound machine were whirled around in that room in a vain attempt to get a tiny camera into my uterus. At one point I looked up and could see, over the top of my draped knees, Dr. A looking like a mad scientist, with a bloody catheter in her hand. Ewwww.

Eventually she got the camera in--everything was normal, hurrah!--and then made sure the catheter would work too, cause getting in there is kind of a requirement if you want to implant any embryos. Again, despite her many attempts with different types, it was the Jones that saved the day. I don't know who you are, Jones, to have a catheter named after you, but thank you, thank you, thank you. If it wasn't for you I might still be on that table.

After it was over, Dr. A and the medical assistant started apologizing profusely, and telling me that I was really tough, and generally making me feel like I had fought my way out of a war zone carrying seven babies so my back, instead of lying inert on a table pumped with drugs. But hey, since it hurt, it was kind of nice to get the Purple Heart treatment.

And I figure this is preparing me for things to come, hopefully in the near future. By no means do I think this is comparable to being pregnant, or that being pregnant will be easy, but I do feel better equipped than the average bear to let many complete strangers look at and prod my most private regions, because there has been quite an army down there already. And what's coming doesn't seem quite as intimidating in the face of what's come so far. A few months ago a friend of mine was telling me about the experience of pregnancy treatment and evaluation, and she explained she had to have an uncomfortable procedure done, called a vaginal ultrasound.

I'm not saying a vaginal ultrasound is a whole lot of fun, but on the other hand, it's no hysteroscopy. So I guess I can wear my war wounds proudly, and hopefully be ready for what's next.