A Guided Tour of My Uterus

Conan O’Brien and his crew were filming in our office this morning. Unfortunately, I was miles away, hanging out in a pair of stirrups with a speculum and urine cup. My visit became vastly more exciting when Dr. Pap said I’d be getting an ultrasound. Oooh. I had not planned on a photo tour of my uterus this morning. The miniature science geek that lives inside my brain jumped up and down - for joy, for joy! - before climbing back into the tube-sock-covered stirrups.

“Come with me,” said Dr. Pap as she opened the door of the examination room.

What? Outside? In my breezy, though fashionably short, open-at-the-back johnny? My ass will be AWOL the minute I step into the hall. Either you’re oblivious or I’m a prude.

Still, this short scuttle of shame was all that stood between me and my walk down fallopian tube lane. I grabbed the back of my gown and stepped bravely forth, trying to look nonchalant as I passed a pregnant woman and her husband (or, as they say creepily in parenting land, “a pregnant couple”), who tried even harder to look just as nonchalant — she staring at him; he looking to the left (oops, still in my line of vision), then to the right (shit, there she is again), then down (ah, safe, neutral floorboards - my eyes will never leave you).

The new exam table’s stirrups were happily swathed in thick baby-blue snuggle socks. Swell baby vibes all around. This was the deluxe suite of exam rooms. As soon as I hoisted myself into place and got a good look at the ultrasound machine, I knew those We’re-Having-a-Baby movies had led me astray. I expected Dr. Pap to glide an iron-like device over my gel-coated belly. Instead, the device looked more like the toys mom relaxed with after a long day of ironing. Do not believe everything you see on television, kids.

I watched the screen while Dr. Pap wove her magic wand around, giving me a guided tour. “Here are your ovaries — nice and calm…”

What delighted me most, though, was the condom they used to cover the baton. Please, don’t try to sanitize the experience whatsoever. We’re sticking this rod in you and if you feel like you’re being sexually prodded, well, that’s because you are. Don’t let the fuzzy socks fool you. Still, I’m sure the strangely erotic experience is lost on the mom-to-be, who’s there for the premiere of her baby bundle. Me? At least I had a shot of my calm ovaries to soothe me. Beat that footage, Conan.