Like Kimli, I also had people spelunking in my lady garden this morning.
They were SUPPOSED to stay on the outside, but apparently my walnut sized bladder does not inflate enough, even when I have drank so much water I FELT LIKE I WAS DROWNING ON THE INSIDE and had to pee three times on the way from the hospital back to work.
Translation: They couldn’t ultrasound my lady parts from the outside because despite drinking enough water to make me feel nauseous, my bladder was still not big enough for them to see the rest of my parts clearly. Instead, they had to wand me. In the vagina. On the upside, they get you to insert the (well lubed, phew) wand yourself. On the downside, there’s something very disturbing about sticking a wand up your hoohaw with a pleasant but professional ultrasound lady standing next to you, as if waiting for you to finish pleasuring yourself.
No, I’m not pregnant (I’ll leave that in peechie’s corner), nor do I have any fun reasons for getting an ultrasound except my doctor wants to see what’s going on Down There (usually, nothing at all, even without any sort of contraceptive device. This is unusual, so they want to find out why.) The ultrasound tech didn’t leap back and yell “SWEET JESUS WHAT IS THAT THING?” so I assume I am not harboring any demons or growths that look like the mark of the beast, although she did have to poke around awful hard to find my left ovary. Assuming I HAVE a left ovary. Who knows, perhaps instead I have a little man who, when prodded with the ultrasound wand, waved back and said “Hello there, ducky!”
I don’t know why he would call the ultrasound tech ducky, except she seemed quite perky. It fits.