Ultrasound Outing

This afternoon I had my ultrasound at the Gatineau Hospital. Yesterday a neighbour mentioned that they were having C Difficile problems there, but I had made the appointment and was unwilling to pay $150 at a private clinic, so I went ahead with the original plan.

Before I left I drank 6 cups of water. My bladder holds exactly 6 cups, I think. I parked the car and edged my way, every muscle tensed, to the office where I was to get my health card. Then I went to Radiologie and was told it would be 20 minutes. I said I wasn't sure I could wait 20 minutes because I had drunk a great deal of fluid. The receptionist smiled and told me to go to the big waiting room.

I moved from one chair to another. I tried reading but was unable to concentrate on my book. I did some people watching hoping to get my mind off the distended basketball being pinched by my skirt's waistband. A woman wearing tight black stovepipes and white pumps with black stiletto heels sat opposite me with her two children. Another threesome came in, the daughter in a wheel chair. The mother was one of those ambiguous people whose sexual identity has been blurred by drugs. I got up and moved again.

This time I went back to Radiologie, loosening the top button before I got up. I explained my predicament, told the older receptionist I would have to reschedule because I was in pain and could not wait to use the toilet. She suggested a small pee. Surprisingly I found I was able to oblige and the pressure lifted a little.

I returned to the waiting room. Ten minutes went by and the fluids I had drunk earlier moved down to displace the ones I had released. The pain began again. I have been uncomfortable before but this was much worse than anything I ever experienced having an ultrasound when I was younger. Although I had a baby pushing down on my bladder then, I also had more elastic tissues. I gave up then. I went into the bathroom, peed, and told the receptionist I would definitely have to reschedule.

She suggested I drink more water. The technician arrived and said she could do it "the other way" with an empty bladder. The "other way" was not pleasant. In fact I was thinking I never wanted to even think about having sex again, when she announced that my bladder was not completely empty and I would have to return to the bathroom. I was sceptical but I toddled off obediently. Five minutes later a minuscule dribble leaked a few droplets into the bowl and I returned to the little room and the instrument of torture. More agony.

Then she called in the doctor who peered at the screen and pointed out something he was able to discern. He asked if my gynecologist had sent me. I said it was my GP. He said I would have to see a gynecologist and have another scan done.

I drove home feeling almost cheerful After all it was over and I was making this trip over the bumpy back roads on an empty bladder. CBC was interviewing Susan McMaster who has just written a memoir called The Gargoyle's Left Ear. I made a note to pick it up tomorrow when I go into Wakefield.

On Mountain Road I passed a field of cattle. A big white bull was mounting a cow. I felt considerable sympathy and remembered a poem I had written about the cows on that farm back when they were first introducing the Charolais strain into Canadian herds. My sympathies were with the young heifers then too.

Sacrificial Cows

I passed a herd of cattle,
lots of creamy white,
and remembered the first Charolais
in the Valley.

Aristocratic ...
French ...
imports ...
... big ...

but not as hardy
as the stocky shaggy
little animals raised in the Valley
who could winter out and thrive.

The first heifers
must have been terrified
by the enormous French bulls
at stud.

But of course they never saw
the source of the fluid
antiseptically introduced
into their vaginas,

never saw the bull they wanted to scream at
as they tried mightily
to expel those first
Charolais-Hereford calves

never saw the cause
as they were cut open
to save the new breed of calf,
larger, stronger than either parent.

So they screamed
at the farmers,
and the vets
they had trusted.