Look at you!
You with your tight fitting condom cover and your Helpful Assistant with her tousled hair and tra la la accent.
You with your big screen and your floral modesty sheets!
You know when I turned up to see you today, I didn’t know really what to expect. It’s been over two years, two long years, since our last encounter. This being my first day back on the job so to speak I wanted to make a good impression, but then, people in hell want iced water.
Last night I lay tossing and turning, worrying myself sick over the best and most direct route to the House Of Groovy Love.
I’m not a great driver Dildo-Cam, I’m a very average navigator and I’m a worse parker. Put these three things together and you may as well just call me shithouse, but I console myself with my myriad of other skills. Recalling obscure songs from my childhood for instance. Not too many people can pluck the university song of their visiting American third grade teacher off the top of their heads, yet nearly everyone can execute a reverse park, even if it is on the other side of the road on a one way street and it’s raining. Yet sadly it’s this second, more common, skill that seems to hold so much more value in our car crazy society.
But I digress! It was 40 minutes into my early morning 15 minute journey and I had only managed to park the car! I ran, breathless into the lifts, forgetting of course which floor I needed, only to realize that a lift full of women with anxious faces at 7 in the morning was only ever going to get out at one floor.
The newly spacious and smartened up House Of Groovy Love has many changes!
Instead of the typical “waiting room” configuration of chairs, to cushion the butts of we the infertile, and direct our anxious gazes at anywhere else but each other’s faces, there is now a multiple “circle the wagons” type approach. This makes avoiding eye contact that much more difficult but cherry picking magazines a breeze.
Some things stay the same!
I forgot that when you arrive at the House Of Groovy Love, the very first thing to do, before saying hi to the door bitch or taking off your coat or picking your wagon is to Write Down Your Name and then tick Bloods U/S or BOTH.
Hovering, even digging in your bag for a pen, is enough time for someone else to nip in and scribble down their name before yours and then opening your mouth to take a breath and say “whoa now, missy, settle back there,” means five more folk with firmly pressed lips and biros outstretched will duck in under your elbow and scribble their names down and suddenly a three minute bloodletting stretches out to a twenty minute wait and a close reading of why a minimally decorated room should be painted with eggshell or weak weak latte rather than white. (Makes it look like a gallery).
However, this didn’t happen to me because this is my Second Time Around and so, despite a momentary lapse of brain, I was one of the loathsome nippers. Yes, me, who drove around and around the Sydney cbd and its teeth grindingly hideous one way streets like a lumbering half blind elephant was suddenly Penelope Pitstop at the front desk.
Blood test? Jolly! I remember that big pillow they give you to cuddle, and the garish arm bands! I remember the tiny prick and the bit of cotton wool that gets taped to your arm, effectively in my case, hopelessly ineffective in the girl after me who was awash with blood by the time we caught up in the Ultrasound Lounge!
Your Helpful Assistant demurely ducked out of the room saying she’d “leave me to change” and I had to call her back because I had forgotten what to take off.
Completely blank! Nerves, or what!
She suggested… Undies! Yes, and trousers too, and then I was able to remember Shoes all by myself, but was that all? Strange, when I think back to that moment I didn’t have a lot more to remove, my top, but no bra because I didn’t want to disturb Tricky by scavenging around the bedroom, and a poncho.
Perhaps subconsciously I just wanted to wear the poncho for our reunion. Helpful Assistant kindly set me straight. She offered me the chance to handle you myself Dildo-Cam, but this made me laugh merrily and so she shoved you in herself and told me to concentrate on my breathing.
And very soon I was able to see my ovaries again! Unpredictable, unreliable funny old things that they are! One had a Big Fat follicle and two smaller hangers on! The other had five miniscule useless excuses for follicles! Oh the joys of seeing things in your body that no one should ever need to see! And all due to you Dildo-Cam. You!
A few hours later, Butterfly from the House Of Groovy Love rang to tell me that Dr Lovely Accent had decreed another blood test on the morrow. Perhaps due to global warming I seem to be a little high on the estrogen. Big Fatty in the left ovary has some ‘splainin’ to do.
Anyway. After the stressful night, drive, park and dash, I must say that the chance to lie down and put my feet up while you popped on the Barry White and we got reacquainted was probably the most pleasant part of the journey so far. If only he had that album of childhood melodies down...
Minnesota, hats off to thee….
Let’s hope it continues that way hey?
Love, in a platonic fashion
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