Tuesday, February 7, 2012

One Stone, No Baby

If a picture is worth 1,000 words, then the photo below, taken on my iPhone while in line at Target, should tell you what my yesterday was like.

I should have bought the trampoline, too.
Would you still like an explanation?  

There will be some hoo-ha talk, here, so prepare yourself. Or go away. 

Know your limits.

First off, the test turned out negative: I am not with child.  And I pretty much knew it would be negative. But around month four of the new birth control pill, the period pretty much stopped. Which is great, except for that part about birth control pills only being 99% effective and my brain insisting that my ovaries were going to show me just how fucking powerful the 1% could be, if they put their tiny little minds to it.  I could just see them throwing out welcome mats to Husband's little swimmers.

"Hey boys! First one here, wins the prize!" they'd yell in their whorish little voices. 

Let's Go to Target:
Anyway,  I'm standing in line at Target, and I really have to pee. And the bathroom was like, 75 yards away from where I was standing. What would you do? I paid for my items, walked to the Target bathroom, pulled out my phone, opened up the pregnancy test to skim the directions (place test downward in flow of urine; wait three minutes), set the timer on my phone and peed on the stick.

Within 50 seconds, the urine had traveled up the stick to the window and revealed a negative, but I wanted to stick it out for the whole 3 minutes, just to make sure that horizontal line didn't turn into a giant plus sign.  Truth be told, the two times in my life that I was pregnant, that plus sign appeared in a heartbeat and both times, I was testing myself after only being one or two days late. Yesterday, I was about two months overdue, so if I was pregnant, that stick would have lit up, bells would have gone off, Paula Radcliffe or Lance Armstrong might have congratulated me on my conception and quite possibly, $20 in quarters might have dropped out of the bottom of the test.

But because I'm me, I waited for the full three minutes.

While I'm waiting, two nit wits, I'm guessing they were in their 60s or 70s, were a few stalls down, and having trouble securing the locks on the doors.  One must have already assumed the position when her door flew open, and she struggled to get her pants up (I know this because she was yelling, "I have to get my pants up!") while she apparently fell into the sides of the stall, shaking the entire stainless steel divider system, all the way down to my cozy spot in the handicapped accessible stall (I needed space, people. I could have been PREGNANT!)  

1:27 remaining.

Like Goldilocks on a mission for a bed that was 'just right' my aged little potty-mates went from stall to stall trying to find a toilet with a working lock. And they were making their way down to mine. One of them was actually gasping for breath. She must have really had to pee. 

0:47 remaining.

Still negative. So I do what seems natural: I texted a friend to tell her that I was 27 seconds away from officially not being pregnant.  It was funny not only because I was doing it from the john at Target, but also because she had no idea that there was a possibility that I was pregnant.  

Double whammy, friend! I'm using my phone on a toilet at Target and I'm. Not. Pregnant.

Let's get the kids at school, and then go home:
I (alone) pick up the kids from school and hurry them home so I can use my water pick on Elizabeth. Elizabeth is my tonsilith (a tonsil stone) and I've been aware of her presence for about a week now.  She doesn't hurt, I don't think she's smelly, but she feels like a piece of food that is stuck in the back of my throat. No matter how much I gargle, cough or spit, I can't dislodge Elizabeth.

At home, I try the water pick but since I can't see Elizabeth, I'm not making any progress. I e-mail husband, attach a video on how to 'banish tonsil stones forever' and tell him he's got a job to do when he comes home: it's time to evict Elizabeth. 

Have a seat on the couch, please:
Once the kids are in bed and the push-up/sit-up, squats and dips routine is complete, I got on the couch and Husband got on top of me, mag-lite in one hand, wet Q-Tip in the other. 

Showtime!

I'm a gagger, so you know. Husband knows this, too, so he's got a pretty high level of anxiety about sticking a Q-Tip, with his hand attached to it, in my toothy mouth.

I explain to him where I think Elizabeth is hiding. I have no idea what stuff looks like after about the first three inches from the tip of my tongue, so my description is nothing more than explaining the sensation of where I 'think' it is at. A few attempts, a few full-body heaves, and he sees Elizabeth.

And she's big.

He says she looks like a tooth, hiding in a flap of flesh (it's crypt, and we all have them).

I am relieved.  Not because I have a disgusting ball of hardened bacteria in my mouth hole, but because he's seeing what I know is a tonsil stone, and not cancer. Because I also woke up yesterday with a zit behind my left ear. Which is a sure sign that I have Stage 15 head and neck cancer. And I'm pregnant. I'm 39-years old, dying of head and neck cancer and I have a rice-sized baby in my uterus.  Now what?

Not pregnant. No cancer. A water pick should blast Elizabeth out of her cozy spot.  Husband brings out the water pick, puts a towel on my chest and once again, gets on top of me, mag-lite in one hand, water pick in the other. He gave me a plastic pitcher so I could spit into it.

If anyone doesn't believe this story, I'm going to say this: I'm not creative enough to make this shit up.  This is how we spent our Monday night.

The water pick takes a little finesse and after I started to gag, he pulled it out of my mouth, but didn't know how to make the water stop flowing, so I took a blast of water to my face and hair. Good thing I had that towel on my chest.

Elizabeth would not leave.

Let's go to bed:
We went to bed.  Elizabeth bothers me most when I'm in bed and tears started to roll out of my eyes. Another night with Elizabeth.  Husband is reading with his book light, which is fairly bright, so after about 10 minutes, I ask him to have another look. Maybe between the Q-Tips and water pick and then my flossing/brushing/gargling ... maybe Elizabeth got loose.

He sighed. "If we had something longer than a Q-Tip, I bet we could knock her out of there."

Let's revisit my hoo-ha:  
In August, I had to have a fairly benign procedure done at my OB-GYN's office: an endometrial biopsy (because back then, I was bleeding every day.  Talk about Goldilocks! "I bleed too much. I don't bleed enough. Wah, wah, wah...").  The worst part of the procedure was looking at the tray of tools that were to be used on me, including some Q-Tips that were the size of my big knitting needles.

Now where can I get those big Q-Tips, without having to have my cervix scraped?

Back to Elizabeth: 
Husband left the room and came back with a lollipop stick. It was about 6 inches long -- I had them leftover from either a baking or a craft project from years ago -- with nothing soft on the end.  It was just a stick.

"Get it," I told him.

Once again, he got on top of me, light in one hand, blunt lollipop stick in the other.

Elizabeth won't leave.

Here I am, today:
I managed to sleep last night. I've put a call into my doctor's office and am waiting for their return call so I can schedule an appointment. I've brushed and gargled. I'll probably do so again within the hour. I might even try the water pick again, too.

I bought those dental instruments -- the metal picky things and the mirror, just like the dentist uses.  I have fantasies about Husband stabbing Elizabeth with the picky thing and then just pulling her out.  I did suggest that to him last night, but he wouldn't bite.

One of the web sites said an ear curette (those little plastic sticks with an open circle at the end that pediatricians use to scoop the goop out of your kids ears?) might work.  One site also suggested, "...although not a conventional method of dislodging tonsil stones is to jump on a trampoline for 5 or 6 minutes...".

A basic trampoline costs $65 at Target.

I am in Hell. And I'm not alone.

Elizabeth is with me.

















8 comments:

  1. Questions:
    1) Why "Elizabeth"?
    2) Did the Old Ladies ever get to go pee in peace?
    3) How many cell phones bars do you get in the Target bathroom?
    4) Why did I watch a YouTube Video on Tonsiliths - can I scrub my eyeballs and get 4 minutes of my life back?


    Congrats on the test results and best of luck on evicting the squatter in your throat..


    Later.

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  2. 1) Elizabeth the Tonsilith. Also, because the thing I had extracted from my shoulder blade a few years ago was named Esmerelda. I gravitate toward the E names for the crap that has to be ... extracted ... from my body.

    2) They peed. They left.

    3) Full bars.

    4) Your brought that evil upon yourself, man. I purposefully didn't put a link in the post so people didn't have to see what I was describing. Gives you some new respect for Husband, right??? :)

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  3. One of my readers sent me an email indicating to me specifically that I should read you! I'm glad I did! I'm sorry about Elizabeth, but I love the telling of the tale (no, I know this is real, I know nobody would make this up). Have you on my desktop now!

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  4. Elizabeth and I are delighted you stopped by, Sandra!!! I'll check out your blog shortly.

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  5. I'll be honest.

    When Paragraph 3 said there would be hoo-ha talk and there was a picture of a water flosser right next to it, I prepared for the worst.

    We have a trampoline in the garden that is exclusively used by our local fox now. I don't think he has tosiliths, so I think that proves them to be an effective treatment.

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  6. My god, that made me laugh, Andy!!! (hoo-ha + water flosser).

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  7. <-- is truly thankful to be tonsil free after reading about Elizabeth.. And woo hoo on your squatter free hoo-ha :). And lastly, you may very well have the best husband. Ever.

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  8. He is a good husband, Sara. :) Between Elizabeth (who doesn't actually exist) and the hole that Esmerelda left (he was the lucky guy that got to pull the gauze out of her crypt two days after the procedure), I owe him.

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