This is a good one. Trip to the lady-doc.

Here's one that you just need to try and imagine yourself there.  I promise that are some great doctors out there, we need them and they do some amazing things - some just 'ain't too bright' when it comes to chronic illness.   And i've met most of those.

So, and I will spare you gory details, I'm having some problems with my parts.  And I have some grand plans for those parts in the future by bringing all kids of babies into the World with em so I need the shop running smoothly, if ya know what I mean.  Sometimes you just gotta check under the hood.

So I walk into the doc the other day, way too early in the morning for me to be out of bed, in clothes, and trying to maintain an appearance of ladylike stature.  I walk through the front door and up to the counter to sign in.  You ladies (and even some of you poor baby-daddies) know the look on the faces of the poor subjects in THAT waiting room.  And I also should mention that this is basically a teen pregnancy clinic.  Hey, I'm poor and they take medicare and medicaid.  And I've found that those that work at those clinics to not be in it for the money and to be very kind and helpful. tex, the new liberal.

So, I start to sign my name in and hear 'You're here for a gender determination?'  WHAT the *:%@!  Now mind you it is right early.  And I am a tired woman.   So the first thing that comes to in my mind is 'oh hell no.'  Please tell me that I do not look so bad that they think I am a man.  Hey people, this is the way my mind works.  I have very little immediate common sense.  I mean, I know I was looking a little rough that day, but I had even taken the time to sit in the parking lot and put mascara on.

So then a little mental clarity comes.  'Hmm?,'  I say. And they repeat, 'gender determination, for your baby.'  And then there was another, 'oh hell no!' in my mind.  They thought I was knocked up enough to be able to see the sex of my baby!  What is worse, I ask you - to worry that you look like a man or 20 weeks pregnant.  'no, no I smile and tell them, I just here for an ultrasound because I'm having problems.'  The 15 year old clerk looks embarrassed.  It's okay honey - this is gonna make one great story.*

You know what happened that day?  For probably the third time in 5 and half years of being sick, a doctor walked in the room and listened.  She didn't look at my chart and see my 'happy pills' on there and automatically assume I was a head case, that I just need attention and an up in my dose.  She didn't see the 5 recent surgeries and 'chronic fatigue syndrome' (worst name ever) and assume I was there for pain medicine.  She looked me right in the eye (and other spots, mind you), and listened.  

For once, I was not in a 'hypochondriac until proven otherwise' phenomenon'. blood work. tumor.  something that can be seen.  Unfortunately in our society and pill-popped healthcare system - that is the direction we are going.  My sister, always listening and trying to help, says, 'you just need to go in there and tell them you are not like 'them', I think she wants me to bring in my resume just to show the doctor that I'm not a lazy crack-addict.  Oh, I look real nice on paper... any piece of paper but a med list on my medical chart, that is.  And one thing I'm realizing, who is 'them?'  Someone who needs a little help?  Who's not having the best year?  Someone who has nowhere else to go? yup. I guess am one of them.

So, she did an ultrasound.  Can I just say how funny it is to look on that screen and see your womb and your name on top of that.  It's like when people post their ultrasound pics of their baby and you see their name, dr's name, etc.  Well, I thought it would be a while before I saw mine, like that.  Uterus, that is.

Guess what? I'm not pregnant!  But she didn't even mention that, bless her heart.  I have probably had over 60 pregnancy tests from the docs since I've been sick.  Mind you, this is after I have repeatedly told them that there is NO way I would be pregnant.  They usually get a smirk on their face at that point and tick the box on the lab order form.  Whatever.  Order the damn test.  Spend those medicare dollars; we sure have plenty of those to go around in this economy.  And I love their faces when they have to  come back and tell me, 'well, you're actually not pregnant.'  No sh%t sherlock.

So back to really nice doctor.  Turns out what I thought were ovarian cysts rupturing is actually endometriosis.  I guess she sees this often with auto-immune patients - the body kind of crashes, part by part.  But it  hurts so bad.  When I am in the middle of one of those I am in so much pain I pretty much see my Lord and Savior coming to get me. IT IS THE WORST PAIN I HAVE EVER, EVER, AND ONE MORE EVER, HAD.  You get the point.  But still, imagine my surprise when she put a real, bonafied name to it.  What, a diagnosis?  Like as in a doc came in, opened their ears, took a gander and said, 'I believe you!  Let's do something about this!'  My eyes filled up with tears (happy ones) and I told her, 'thank you so much for listening to me.'  

She saw tissue growing outside my uterus and combine that with some other painful symptoms I'm having (again, I'll spare you the details), thinks that there is tissue around my bladder and bowel to boot. She said she needed a better look and recommended a laparoscopy.  "Great!' I said, maybe a little too eagerly.  Mind you, to someone who has left dozens and dozens of doctors offices with, 'oh let's just give it some time and see what happens.' or 'i'm gonna refer you on' (read: 'my god-like ego can't handle the fact that I can't figure it out,' or my personal favorite, 'i think this is something going on in psychologically,' this is revolutionary.  I was maybe even excited.  Sad?  Yes.  Reality?  Yup.

I laid back and put my feet in those things and said, 'let's do it right now.'  I didn't know what a laparoscopy was.   You can take a look any which way you want to.  'No, no,' she said, 'we gotta put you under to do this.'  Oh. Okay. I still thought she was just gonna look up the way God intended and was a little confused at why I had to be put out but whatever, I'm not the expert here.  So I sign the dotted line and head on out, relieved.  Turns out they are gonna make a teeny tiny little incision and look through a scope and take out what scar tissue they can. Then do a D&C.  I called the family - everyone took it as good news, like I had just gotten into college or something.  Except the captain (my dad).  Poor guy.  The last time I had one of  my 'episodes' with this he had to take me to the ER in the middle of the night.  He was a good sport.  he has all daughters.  poor guy.

So, surgery is in a couple of weeks and I could not be less worried.  I've got a good feeling about it.  Whatever on Earth that means.  Anything I can do to make life a little more comfy, I'm game.

And the next day, in order to NOT look like a man, I curled my hair and put on fake eyelashes to watch Friday Night Lights.  Landry appreciated it.


*look forward to the stories about how I accidentally broke into the CIA and went out with an 86-year old man.  At the time, I didn't realize I was doing either.