If you're here for the Creme de la Creme, it's the post below this one. I also have a hotlinked icon in the top left corner of the blog with the date and time of the last update. Entries are still coming in and the list will continue to be updated as new ones are added. Check back frequently...
I've been thinking a lot lately that I'd like to live in a sitcom opening credits--you know, that pre-show theme song where you see the characters going through their zany lives, rolling their eyes as the cat climbs into the coffee pot and they're drinking hairball decaf yet again or crossing their arms over their chest to indicate that they are having yet another argument with their bonehead husband.
Since I can't exist in a continuous loop of crazy antics set to music (yet), I'd like to at least have a theme song that follows me wherever I go, making everyone who interacts with me feel as if they are in a movie.
I've chosen something that is happy and light--I actually heard it for the first time when we went to see Juno yesterday during the independent movie theater's version of the 20. I am still trying to wrap my mind around where I stand with Juno, but when this little Christmas song by Mindy Smith came on, I turned to Josh and said, "this song would be perfect for the opening credits of my sonohystogram."
In order to fully enjoy this post, you should open another copy of my blog in a new tab or window, click on this link, make sure the song is set to "It Really is a Wonderful Life" (second one down on the playlist), click play, and then come back here to hear about the actual saline sonogram.
See, it's nice, right? I know she's singing about being in love on Christmas, but I like to believe that my examination room is filled with love. Love for my husband (who probably will be in the waiting room tomorrow because...I mean, does he really need to see pictures of the inside of my uterus?). Love for my RE. Love for the technology that is going to put a baby in my belly despite my somewhat higher FSH and 9-day luteal phase.
It's the night before the actual procedure and I imagine tomorrow will be like this: blue birds will flit around the sonogram machine, snow will be lightly falling outside the window, we'll all be drinking hot chocolate during the procedure (and I'll get a little teary as I see my fibroid-free uterus. Um...please be fibroid free, uterus), and sparkles will be issuing from the extra large sanitary pad that will be waiting patiently for me in my panties to catch all of that saline solution as it drips out in a three-hour-long pee.
Oh...and this song will be playing in the background as we gaily think as the catheter is inserted that it really is a wonderful life...
The Day Of:
I've been made dumb by iodine.
I had some really brilliant thoughts prior to the procedure--even some saucy commentary on the episode of Martha they were televising in the waiting room about babies and pregnant women (right next to the poster asking parents to refrain from bringing their existing children to the clinic out of consideration for other patients). But I didn't write them down and now it's almost as if the iodine didn't just make my vagina spanking sweet and sanitized, but it also washed away anything I was trying to remember from this morning.
I am a firm believer that procedures would hurt less if my RE strolled into the examination room in his snappy little white coat and said, "Melly, this is going to hurt like a mofo." If he said that, I would brace myself for the pain and say afterwards, "that really wasn't so bad" rather than having it the other way around. He tells me it won't hurt a bit and I say okay and he starts the procedure and I have the cramping. Which either makes him condescending or a liar. Whereas telling me it will hurt MORE than it will actually hurt would make him compassionate or a liar.
I think a good rule of thumb is catheter=discomfort. I have yet to have a catheter threaded through my cervix and walked away saying, "that felt good" or even "I barely felt it." I feel catheters and that could be due to my own uterus and not a fact of catheters. But I'm willing to bet that most people feel some discomfort when something is going through their cervix so I think we can equate catheter to the first rung on the discomfort ladder. In other words, once a catheter comes into the picture, you step up onto the first rung.
Because they're going to also use a speculum and swab around and inject a foreign fluid into your uterus, you can take it up a notch to the second rung. So I would rate the saline sonogram a two out of ten.
It's HSG lite in all respects. It gives you less information from an HSG and it's less painful than an HSG and it's less helpful than an HSG.
And it's now over and I'm home and dripping and trying to concentrate on the work I need to get done. My uterus was fibroid and polyp free. A gorgeous oval. And while sparkles did not issue from the large sanitary napkin already strategically-placed on the panties, I did get to see a tiny black-lake-of-a-uterus fill with twinkling white bubbles as he injected in the saline. My theme song cued up in my head and even though my RE was concentrating on the screen and the sonographer assistant was pursing her lips and doing her best to ignore my cheerful exclamations of "yay!" and "polyp free in 2008!," it really is a wonderful life when you can say hello to your reproductive organs on the small screen.
Of course, my reproductive organs are still reaching for the stars. Today, it's a sonogram screen, but tomorrow, it could be the Silver Screen.
Fade to black...