How The LEEP Thing Went plus Bonus Unrelated Pictures Of My Cat, Onion
Well, I'm back from getting LEEPed. For those of you not in the know about the various strains of cervical torture, check out that link. You will learn of the wonders of having an electrosurgical loop inserted into your (or someone else's) vagina for the purpose of excising all manner of nasty abnormality. Or don't check out that link, stop reading now, and forget that you were ever here. Think back to that time last week when some passing acquaintance stated that the internet was a waste of time, and let us pretend we never met across this vast array of intertubes.
For those of you who are still here, yes, I am alive and propped up in bed at this very moment. I managed to make hummus from a mix and there is water on to boil for coffee and the painkillers are kicking in quite nicely, so, as you can read, I have not succumbed under the electrified gynecological instruments of Dr. McJabby (which pseudonym is so close to my doctor's last name that it is surprising she chose such a profession).
Aside from all the waiting around in admitting and in the women's health unit and in the colposcopy and LEEP patients' lounge, which dragged on for an hour-and-a-half filled with outdated Star magazines and the exclamations of a woman who felt the need to state repeatedly that the chairs in the lounge were bizarre, the LEEP was a fairly short event. Truly, I am not at all clear about what it entailed. I know that they started off with a colposcopy, which is the procedure I had last time, but I lost track of what was going on after she gave me a local anaesthetic and then said And now I am going to give you a shot of epinephrine.
Onion Is Licking My Leica Camera Lens. That's His Eye In The Upper Middle.
Yes, It Does Make Him Look Like A Wombat.
I felt the pinch of a needle in my cervix, in spite of the fact that I have been told several times that I have very few nerves there, the liars, and then this lovely rush started to radiate throughout my body. I must have looked completely blissed out, because the nurse looked down into my eyes in what seemed to me the warmest and tenderest of gazes and said
It feels like love, doesn't it?
Thank gawd that epinephrine's rush is short-lived, because I was sure for a moment when Amanda-the-nurse's head was caught in a soft-focus halo by a directional light that her and I were going to go far together.
I do remember that they grounded the electrified loop with a sticky pad on my thigh, and when she used the loop, there was a bit of burning smell. You know, singeing human flesh isn't an odourless enterprise. There was a vacuum to suck up the smoke, but there may have been some water involved. It's hard to be certain, because at that point everything seemed to grow very quiet and the vacuum noise overtook the room. Amanda leaned in and asked me if I was feeling alright, and my head nodded, but I did it strangely, because suddenly I wasn't sure which directions I should be shaking it in from the lying down position in order to make my point. Left and right? Up and down?
She left and came back with a cold cloth for my forehead. I've never seen someone so pale, she commented. You had me worried. In my haze, I mumbled back, Ooh, dohn wurrah, I nevah flush, nawt eveh wheh I was a long distan runnah.
I'm not sure what all that pansy-assed withering was about. I have been pierced, tattooed, and watched my own surgery, so this wavering on the edge of unconsciousness felt personally embarrassing. I prefer to swagger away from bodily pain and make inappropriate jokes like I spent more time getting ready for you guys than I ever did for a date! Oh wait, I did make that joke. And I apologized for my lack of a brazilian wax job, too. Schmutzie: socially appropriate under pressure.
My anxiety leading up to the procedure was worse than the procedure itself, so all you future LEEPers can rest assured that it is not the sort of thing for which you have to buck up. At present, I am crampy and tired and experiencing short-lived crying jags, but you can likely expect only the first two. My one-minute tearfests happen to me for a few hours after receiving any anaethetic. If I go to the dentist, I have to take the day off work, because I will bust up over a pretty colour or a nice client or that I managed to effectively work the fax machine. You, probably not so much.
So, there you have it, folks. I'm home and I'm well and, as you can see from the above bestrewn photographs, I have a pretty awesome pussy.