TMI. Be Afraid.

Back to the doctor again today. Since nobody in their right mind wants to cut into a healthy woman, I’m apparently a great candidate for biofeedback therapy. It’s pretty neat–they hook electrodes up to certain muscle groups, and you can actually see the little lines spike when you use them, so I can track the progress of said muscles through a set of exercises they want me to start doing.

Plus the nice nurse spent a good hour and a half with me, going over everything from dietary habits to when I drink water to whatever. First order: Stop drinking a pot of coffee every morning. What, you meant THAT could cause bladder irritation? Say it ain’t so! So I’m now ordered to switch to tea. (There are supposed to be acid-free coffees. They’re all supposed to be crap. I won’t do that to James. Some things, one must suffer alone.)

So the interview was all fine, the course of treatment and exercise sounds more than fine. But the electrodes…well…see, you gotta tape ’em to the muscles, and when you’re dealing with what’s called the “pelvic floor muscle” there’s really only ONE place the electrodes can go.



“Dear diary…” I said aloud, gazing into the middle distance, as the nice woman taped electrodes to my anus. “Guess what I did today?” Which only made the situation worse, as the nice woman found this funny, which did not get the electrodes applied any quicker.

“Be grateful,” she said, when she had recovered. “We used to have to use a probe.” Egad!

I never fail to be amazed by the situations that a sense of humor will carry one through…

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