This is part two of a much larger story that we will continue to tell.  If you haven’t ready the early parts, you may want to start there…

WARNING!  I talk about my lady parts in this blog.  If that makes you uncomfortable, you may not want to read it!

Several weeks after my first visit to the ER, I had an appointment with my Primary Care Physician (PCP), Dr. Fletchall.  Dr. Fletchall is an inordinately busy and popular doctor, but never hurries with his patients.  He takes his time, builds a relationship, and makes you feel like he really cares.  As I am sitting in a patient room waiting for him to come in, I stare out the window at the beautiful summer day.  It’s now mid-June and summer in Indianapolis is in full swing.  I’m jolted from my gaze when Dr. Fletchall enters the room and begins to ask a barrage of questions about what happened.   I’m a little thrown off because this isn’t his usual process.  He typically begins with a little rapport building, conversation, and a few jokes.  This time, however, he was all business from the beginning.

He didn’t seem to have many answers or conclusions based on the information he has – the radiology report from the hospital and my vague recollection of what happened leading up to the ER visit.  He orders a pelvic ultrasound to be done – but done with some stipulations – he wants the ultrasound to be done on the 10^th day of my cycle.  For those of you who are a novice to the world of menstrual cycles and ovulation calendars, day 10 is the day a woman usually ovulates.  That is also the day that ovarian cysts are at their largest, because they are what facilitate the egg leaving the ovary and making the journey down the fallopian tube.  But enough of the anatomy/physiology lesson…

Fast forward a week and I’m scheduling my ultrasound.  While I’m on the phone, the nurse is giving me some basic instructions of how to prepare for the test and it’s pretty simple – come with a very full bladder – the full bladder pushes the uterus and other reproductive organs up to the surface so it can be seen on an ultrasound.  Simple enough.

The day of the test I arrive at the imaging center with a full bladder – very full – full to the point of discomfort.   For those of you who know me well, you know that I am a rule follower – I get anxiety from jaywalking or blowing a yellow light – so I followed the instructions TO THE LETTER.  As I sit in the waiting room my full bladder gets fuller and fuller – to the point of pain.  You know when you have to go to the bathroom so bad that it’s painful and feels as though your bladder is going to burst inside your body – yeah that kind of full.  I sat there, in complete discomfort barely able to sit, questioning if I could go to the bathroom – just enough – to relieve some pressure but not jeopardize the test.  I decide that a couple more minutes of pain is far more bearable than having to do this again, so I hold it.  I had to go to the bathroom so bad – the last thing I wanted was someone PUSHING on my stomach.  Minutes later, I hunched over, walking back to the ultrasound room.

I get into the room, lay down on the bed and the ultrasound technician starts moving what looks like a stick of deodorant with a cord attached to it around on my abdomen for only a few minutes.  She stops occasionally to snap a picture of what she’s seeing, but the test if very short lived.  She stops and then says, “Okay, you can go empty your bladder now.  If you will empty it completely, disrobe from the waist down and come out with the gown on we can proceed with the rest of the ultrasound.”

I’m sorry, what?

They failed to inform me that this was a two-part test – one which would occur externally and one that would occur INTERNALLY.  That means a similar looking ultrasound device would be inserted into my uterus to take pictures from inside.  I thought to myself, “Deep breath, you can handle this.”   All I really cared about at that moment anyway – was emptying my bladder.  When I returned to the room, the technician pulled out a long rod with a rounded tip on it about the size of a  gum ball.

TIME OUT.

Nobody said anything about sticking that thing IN ME.  These are the moments in life – the moments that are unique to women – when we forfeit all sense of modesty, pride, and control.  These are the moments when you have no choice but to relent and accept what’s about to happen to you – you just lay there, feet in stirrups, legs spread wide, with a complete stranger with a terrifying piece of equipment all up in your lady-business.

For a solid 15 minutes the technician dug around in my uterus with that devil-instrument in complete silence, snapping pictures, not saying a word except the occasional, “Are you okay?”  In the moment, the only response I could muster was, “Yep.”  Yet, in my head I was screaming, “No you devil woman!  You’re digging around in my uterus with a rod.  Do you have any idea how much this HURTS?  When is this going to be over!!?!?!!?”

When it was all over I got up to get dressed and go home, I asked the technician what she saw.  Her only response is, “I don’t know.  The radiologist will have to read the pictures and send the report to your PCP.”  Results to come soon…I guess…

Three days later, I’m in Cleveland speaking at a sorority conference and I get a message from the nurse in Dr. Fletchall’s office.  She has my test results.  I call her back while I am on a break expecting to hear that there was something wrong, but nothing I couldn’t handle – at least I would have an answer.  What I was met with, I wasn’t ready for.  She begins by saying, “I can’t answer any questions about your test results.  All I can do is tell you what the radiologist report says.”

From that moment, she starts rambling off a bunch of big words – words I’ve never heard before – and it all sounds really really scary: Poly-cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), endometriosis, retroverted uterus, hydrosalpinx, ovarian masses, endometroma, atypical ovarian cysts, and on and on.   The nurse finishes by saying, “Dr. Fletchall recommends that you follow up with your OBGYN immediately for further consult and to discuss your results.”

What?  Dr. Fletchall isn’t even going to talk to me?  I have to go to a different doctor to get an answer?  I hung up the phone scared, frustrated, angry and most of all, with zero answers.

I immediately went to Google in desperate search of answers.  Every time I search one of those big words the nurse read to me over the phone, I got more and more scared – and more and more worried.  I closed out my browser and dialed the number to my OBGYN’s office, Dr. Bean and made an appointment as soon as possible (I should’ve started there, per Dr. Fletchall’s recommendation).

All I wanted was some answers – and the only answer I had gotten after over a month of questions was, “I don’t know.”