The Worry Machine

I didn't write about it on the day it happened, but on the day we left for NOLA, I had an ultrasound for my painful ovary. First of all, I didn't think that a mere 36 ounces of water could make me have to urinate quite so badly. But one hour after the guzzle, I had to pee like a racehorse. I squirmed in my seat in the waiting room, wondered how I was going to stand up without wetting my pants, and nearly hyperventilated every time a nurse opened the door and called a name. For some reason I thought that once she called my name, my agony would be over, but as soon as my name was called, I realized it was just beginning. Of course I didn't get to pee-- they still needed to do the ultrasound! The pressure of that little mouse like camera sliding back and forth over my stomach... Agony. I kept trying to tell myself there were points in my life where I needed to go worse than that. All those drunken nights-- I mean, a drunk's need to pee gets pretty intense at times, but in reality, this was pretty bad. It wasn't made better since I could see the full bladder winking at me on the screen. And the tech kept saying, "Yeah, your bladder sure is full!"

After about 40 minutes, I was finally allowed to pee. I must have urinated for five full minutes. As I was peeing, a voice came through the door that we would now have to do a vaginal ultrasound. The dreaded dildo cam. Usually the concept of a toy like this would excite me to no end, but this time around it only made me nervous. My ob/gyn did not write a prescription for this, and my wild mind reeled and leapt to many conclusions. Incidentally my mind has not stopped jumping since this point, and it isn't showing any signs of getting tired. What was it they needed to see more clearly? Even I could see that my right ovary was easily twice the size of the left ovary. There was also quite clearly something on it. And the measurements never ceased. And there were all these little solid black dots.

Once I went out, the tech made me "insert" the camera myself. This was a little like beginning to masturbate with a crowd watching. Unfortunately, it wasn't fun at all. I had the dildo cam going for at least another 40 minutes. This put me on the ultra-sound table for nearly one and half hours. I tried to calm myself down by telling myself that perhaps this was normal. But it's not. When Partner went for her vaginal ultrasound (a mere hour later at Dr. BusyBusyBusy's office) it took all of four minutes to get a clear picture of what was happening inside her womb.

I waited until today to call Dr. Dyke's office. I left a message with her nurse. When there was fifteen minutes to go before the office closed, and I hadn't heard anything from them, I called again. This time the nurse picked up the phone and told me she hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Dr. Dyke yet, but as soon as she did, she'd call me back.

Here's the thing: if my ultrasound was clear, wouldn't she just tell me that? (What are you witnessing here is an inside exclusive look at mind gymnastics in motion. I tell you, I'm going for the gold!) When I left the hospital last Thursday, I felt like crying. I could hear the techs whispering to each other, "Is that attached there?" and "Did you get a measurement of that?"
My father's mother died very young from ovarian cancer. I bet you can predict my next mind-leap. I won't even say it. But I can tell you it's all very scary.

That being said, I should relate that I have always been a worrier. When I was in second grade, my mother bought me a book called Thornton the Worrier, about a rabbit who worries about everything. It was supposed to console me, but I think it made things worse. Thornton goes along worrying everything to death, and then he meets this man who doesn't worry about a thing. But this dude's house is perched on the side of the cliff, and Thornton is quite rightly worried that it's going to fall off the side, and it does. Doesn't this vindicate Thornton's worrying? I think there was another lesson the book, but the fact that I forget it means that what my mother hoped to accomplish with this book was lost.

I do, however, recognize the truth that it's usually the one thing that I don't have a worry about that bites me in the ass. The things I fret about rarely come to fruitition. Case in point, my most recent trip on the plane. I had no worries about nail-biting turbulance from hell, but there it was. Instead I worried about taking off, landing-- both of which proved to be no problem at all in their beautiful smoothness.

So, I am sure I am worried for nada. I'll keep trying to calm my overwrought mind with such a thought, but until I hear from Dr. Dyke or her nurse, I'll be at the bar, with Thornton.