Let's Play Find my Organs

THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MY LAST POST.

Hey, let me tell you a bit about the pelvic ultrasound I had this morning. (If you can't blog about that, then what can you blog about?)

Perhaps because I work at and live near a large research university, I often find that when I undergo a medical procedure, the person doing it to me is still in training. First, I will be examined by the trainee, then the real professional will come in to make sure things were done correctly. I don't mind. Doctors, nurses, and technicians need hands-on training, so they might as well put their hands on me since I'm not usually in critical condition. The worst thing about it is that it takes up a lot of my time.

Well, today's trainee was an ultrasound technician. I figured she was a trainee long before she announced it because the patch on her scrubs had the name of a different institution on it. She also looked to be about 20 years old. Another thing gave her away. Whether she intended to or not, she had positioned the ultrasound screen so that I could actually see it. This is a first for me. I've had my share of ultrasounds and usually all I get to see is the ceiling light fixtures. Now that I could see the screen, I had to start asking questions and making comments. "Gee, I don't know how you can tell what anything is from that image." "Is that what you're looking for?" "What's that on the left?" After a while, I cut the kid a break and shut up. She needed to concentrate. She wasn't having much luck locating the things we were expecting to see.

She fetched her sonogram instructor. And with him came the probe. Oh no. Oh yes.

One woman I met compared getting a vaginal ultrasound to being a small motor boat. The ultrasound technician controls you by means of a large steering stick.

They covered the probe with some kind of sterile lube, but it's a cold, cold lube and there's nothing they can do about it. The trainee applied the lube to the probe very gingerly, but the professional was like, "Here. Give me that." and he slathered on half a tube of the stuff. "Now that's how you lubricate a probe, junior. Don't be shy."

As a motor boat, I was no longer in a position where I could see the screen. Then began the Mysterious Medical Talk. "Hmm. Tweak the rack and pinion." "Go distal." "No that's just vascular." "Tilt to the harmuncula." "We lost it." "Ah, there's the mizzen mast."

Teacher and student were having a bit of trouble locating all my originally assigned parts. As far as I knew, they were still in there, but just for good measure, they had to be located and photographed. The teacher went to fetch the doctor, but the student had to stay so she could continue to hold the probe inside of me. I didn't ask why. I figured it had to stay in for the same reason the lube had to be cold as hell.

Finally, the doctor came in. At first she, too, was stumped. Where were all my bits? Here I must note that the more experienced or educated these medical people were, the more forceful they were with the proddings. With Junior Tech it was glide. With Tech it was push. With MD it was squish. "There they are."

With everything present and accounted for, the three left me alone. It's not that I expect them to call or write or even friend me on facebook, but after over an hour of intimacy, "Okay. That' s it. There's more towels in there if you need 'em. Bye." seems kind of abrupt.