Deviant

So, yesterday Rose and I are hanging out at a medical centre, waiting for an ultrasound. They’re running late and I am starting to worry I’m about to pee on the carpet. I had remembered many years ago going for an ultrasound and being told I must not have drunk enough, so they made me drink another litre and hang about the waiting room for an extra hour and a half. I may have gone a little overboard as a result, it felt like I had a watermelon in my bladder!

They start on the top of my tummy. My bladder looms like a huge black lump on the screen and the technician tells me that I’ve definitely drunk more than enough. Rose and I keep getting the giggles and I have to keep telling her to shut up or this is going to get awkward! The tech, we agree later, is very sensitive and professional, and rather cute in a very straight way. I was surprised that she was taking pictures so close to my pubic bone. After seeing all those images of disembodied reproductive organs, mentally I’d kind of strung mine out and looped them all through my stomach. She said lots of people make that mistake, they’re actually only a couple of inches big. Things you learn!

She has quite a bit of trouble taking some images internally, and I ask if having a retroverted uterus makes that job trickier. At which point she tells me that my uterus isn’t so much retroverted as deviated, and Rose and I get the giggles so badly she can’t take any more pictures for a few minutes. I’m a deviant! Medically confirmed. Septum (bit in your nose) AND uterus.

That’s almost as funny as the graffiti we found scratched into the back of Rose’s car the other day – dyke. Misspelled. ‘Dike’. As if pointing out that she’s into women would surprise, confuse, or shame her! It’s no more offensive than someone writing ‘woman’ on my door, or yelling ‘hey, she has feet!’ when I walk past them. Although a friend pointed out its hard to tell with the barely literate, they may have been going for ‘dick’.

Life is so much better when you have a sense of humour.

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