The Test

Last Monday I went back to the doctor. Again. To have the test. Again.

This isn't like all the times when I went to have the blood drawn. So many times that I looked like a junkie. Only to find out that the girl who did my bleeding test the first time did it wrong. That was why I wouldn't clot and we all thought I was dying.

No, this was cystometrics. First, you have to pee in front of somebody. That gets you two acquainted--an ice-breaker, if you will. Then the real fun begins.

They use a pediatric catheter to cause less pain, but, OUCH. The first time it felt like fiberglass. This one just felt intrusive. Did you know I have an unusually short urethra? Well, I do. It is only 7 cm long (a typical female urethra is 10 cm long). There was the insertion of something else, somewhere else, but I didn't ask why. Something about offsetting pressure in my bladder? Luckily for me it was the front door and not the back.

Then the pumping of the water commences. You have to tell them when you have the first sensation of needing to pee. Uh, now. Hmm. Then you have to tell them when you would get serious about looking for a rest stop if you were on the interstate. Yes, now. And finally, you tell them when you absolutely can't take it anymore. NOW!

This next part--well, all I can say is she got what she deserved. She violates me with rubber tubing, disparages my urethra, pumps me full of water, then ASKS ME TO COUGH!!!

Oh, yes I did. I peed all over that table.

There was more after that, but it was slightly anti-climactic.

I'm not sure if I passed that test or not.