Oh, crap! Elvis Won’t Leave the Building!

Most people know that Elvis had his heart attack while sitting, straining, on the toilet. Not a pleasant way to go. The story was that all that prescription medication and fast food caught up with him and “bound him up”.

Well, today I find myself relating to Elvis. Turns out the pain meds I was on for my “procedure” have a “binding” side effect. I would have known that if I had read the small encyclopedia that was attached to the bottle. But I didn’t and now I am.

Unlike Elvis, I have a myriad of choices on how to resolve this – none of them appealing. All of them involve a conversation with either a pharmacist or a doctor to describe my dilemma, not something I look forward to.

When I was about 11 years old my cat had kittens and she was too young a mom to care for them. Two died within hours but the other one we fed a combination of baby formula and liquid vitamins and it appeared to thrive. There was just one little detail we overlooked that a mom cat would know how to deal with – elimination. After 3 days, poor little Higginbotham exploded.

I woke up about 3 this morning in a flop sweat with a vision of me as Higginbotham – a giant ball with a head and hands and feet, about to pop.

So today will be spent listening to Elvis music, drinking plenty of fluids and doing whatever I’m told to do to resolve this “crisis”. Hark! I think I hear some lyrics now - “A little less conversation, a little more ACTION please…”

Can a Polyp Weigh 20 Pounds?

While a part of me hopes they are not going to extract a 20 pound polyp via my vagina, another part of me hopes that it weighs 20 pounds. Then that would mean that I’m not really overweight – it’s the polyp.

But I have a sinking feeling that’s not the case. Too many gravy biscuits from Bojangles in my recent past. They were easy to add on, but won’t be so easy to take off – unlike the polyp. The gynecological equivalent of a weed whacker and it’s out.

My surgeon seems delighted to get to do this procedure. It’s apparently one of his favorites. While I don’t share his enthusiasm, I’ll be knocked out so that part is delightful.

Apparently the only real risk is that he might puncture my uterus if my cervix isn’t dilated enough. To insure that my cervix cooperates, I have to take (not orally) a pill the night before that is sort of a cervical tranquilizer. This whole thing just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?

Having just gotten the call an hour ago about what it will cost me out of pocket, I could use a tranquilizer about now. Maybe we could trim the cost by hitting me over the head with a rock instead of using an anesthesiologist. We could have the procedure done in my real estate office and save the cost of the surgical center.

The Senate is looking for ways to cut health care costs. Maybe I should offer my suggestions.

What is Clark Gable’s Thumb Doing in My Uterus?

Well, I don’t KNOW that it’s his thumb. But what other famous thumb would you think of? Remember “It Happened One Night” with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert? The hitch hiking scene? When I saw the image in the ultrasound of my uterus that thumb is what I saw.

Let me back up. I was in the gynecologist’s office in an exam room, undergoing the gynecological equivalent of waterboarding. The doctor basically hooked up a fire hose and filled my insides with saline solution in order to get a better view of things.

I have some serious doubts as to whether or not the Geneva Convention would allow this procedure on prisoners, but never the less, my insurance company covers it.

So there I am, laid back, feet in stirrups, with the fire hose and camera-on-a-stick jockeying for position, while Dr. Gyno from Gitmo makes the inevitable clichéd statement, “You may feel a little discomfort now”. Ya’ think?!

Once my eyes stopped watering and I could focus again, I looked at the poor resolution picture on the screen they said was my uterus. The camera-on-a-stick moves rapidly, changing the image at a sea-sickening rate while the tech lady clicks dots on the screen that mean something to her.

That’s when I realized she had framed out a perfect thumb. Of course they say the thumb is a polyp and is probably not anything to worry about except that they want it taken out. For some reason I find that makes me a little sad. Not about having surgery – I’ll think about that later. But that little hitch hiker looks kind of pleasant and makes me nostalgic for old Clark Gable movies.

I wonder if get to keep it…….