Many thanks to my editor, whoredinarygirl.
The oxycodone had dulled my pain to a reasonable level. The surreal feeling of unremitting agony was replaced by a feeling of sleepy boredom. I had been in the ER for over five hours, moved from lobby to waiting room, waiting room to private exam room.
My clothes were neatly folded on a chair and I had only a thin gown and a pair of socks on. I'd tried to cling to my panties but the nurse told me to remove them. So now I was lying on the hard, narrow gurney with this flimsy gown that opened in the back. I looked at the privacy curtain and listened to staff bustle about in the corridor outside, hoping someone would come in and do something to me, anything to relieve the boredom. Finally someone did come, an orderly there to steer my gurney to yet another room.
We finally arrived at a room labeled "Ultrasound." The orderly wheeled me in and closed the door, leaving me alone in a dim room. After a thankfully brief wait, a woman came in and held out her hand, introducing herself as Carmen. Carmen was a beautiful black woman, her hair pulled back in a professional bun, contrasting with her full lips and large eyes. Her small hand was warm in mine for the brief moment we touched.
"Can you get up here by yourself?" she asked, indicating another bed or table of some sort, covered in more crisp, white cotton sheets.
"I think so," I responded, carefully sitting and dangling my legs over the edge of the gurney. She gave me her hand again and steadied me as I made the move from gurney to exam table. The oxycodone was working, I felt no pain at all.
I was surprised when she pulled out gynecological stirrups. She draped my lap with a heavy sheet and said, "Just slide down here and put your feet in the stirrups."
I complied, but said, "It's my stomach that hurts."
"We do transvaginal ultrasound because it gives much clearer pictures. Don't worry, it's not like a pap smear, much more comfortable."
It was already more comfortable because I was not lying flat on my back, but slightly inclined. I could see her face above the tent of the sheet over my knees.
"OK, I'm going to apply some lubricant, it shouldn't be too cold." And it wasn't, it was blood warm, startling me.
"Now I'm inserting the probe. This won't hurt," she assured me. And it didn't. It was smooth and much more slender than the speculum used in ordinary pelvic exams. The thick lubricant made it slide in easily, an odd sensation.
We chatted a bit while she moved the probe around, consulted her computer monitor, and clicked her mouse now and then. In typical pelvic exams, the slight discomfort of the speculum distracted me from the fact that someone was putting something inside me. That discomfort was not there, and I was relaxed enough to notice Carmen's beauty again.
Click click, moving the probe around, pause, more clicking, reposition the probe again. This went on for quite a while and our chit chat was no longer distracting me from the novel feeling of the probe moving around in the thick lubricant. It started feeling sort of pleasant.
I was mortified of course. How could having a medical instrument up me be anything but clinical? But the more she adjusted it, the nicer it felt. We had stopped talking and all I could think of was the probe. She then twisted it and pressed up so that it found my g-spot. I gasped.
