Wanna see a picture of my uterus?

At some point in my life, my body started seeing caffeine as a bad thing.  I went from being able to drink coffee or chug a coke at all hours, practically mainlining it with my meals, as my meals, to suffering through a restless night if I even catch a whiff of caffeine after 10am.

And thus the vicious circle begins; I am tired.  I have a “the very big one” mint mocha.  I drink it slowly because it is heaven in a cup.  I finish it after the 10am deadline.  I can’t sleep that night.  I wake up groggy.  I need a cup of coffee to open my eyes.

This morning I’m due for that stupid ultra-sound where you drink 40 oz. of liquid and HOLD IT until they can push down on your bladder with strength of ten thousand men while the ultrasound thing takes pictures of your insides and you try not to pee your pants.  I’m really looking forward to it – how could one not look forward to a test your doc has ordered because “I’d like to see what’s going on in there.  Maybe something grew back” - but I’m typing this with one eye closed and my hands are still asleep and I really need coffee but I’m pretty sure if I drink 40 oz. of coffee, I won’t sleep for a week.

I had this same type of ultrasound nearly two years ago right before they took out my baby maker.  At that point I had a uterus filled with fibroid tumors, one the size of a twelve-week fetus. That guy was so badass; he started growing on the outside of said uterus.  

If I were telling you this story in person, this is the point when I would whip out my phone and ask you if you’d like to see a picture of my uterus.  And this is the point when I would thoroughly gross you out or make you ponder the wonders of the body and how all our parts work and how cool it is that my uterus and tumor look like a heart.  But we’re on the web so you’ll have to goggle pictures of wombs if you want to get all deep and awesomely icky.  Squirrel!

Anyway, the liquid combined with the alien bodies growing inside me made for a wickedly uncomfortable afternoon.  Not helped at all by the fact that the ultrasound folks were running an hour behind.  One hour feels like ten when your bladder is filled to the brim.  The waiting room was filled with women doing various states of the one-foot pee dance shuffle hop.  One poor nine-month pregnant lady peed her pants right there in the lobby after screaming, and rightly so, about the evils they were bringing upon us.  

I’m SO excited to be doing this again. 

Do you think 40 oz. of beer at 8am make a bad impression?