no si thgil der nehw retne ton oD- yaR-X

I had my HSG yesterday.

I took the small valium tablet in the taxi on the way to the hospital yesterday, surreptiously rootling it out of the envelope my mother had given me, dry-swallowing it while the driver wasn't looking. I wasn't quite sure when to take the tablet but the whole taxi thing was stressing me out almost as badly as the thought of the procedure. So I figured better sooner than later. I HATE taxis with a fiery loathing. I sit in the back, watching the fare tick tick tick, palms sweating, agonising over the extortionate amount of money. To go so little a distance! I could tell you long tales of the lengths I usually go to avoid taxis, but we're here to talk about the HSG, so I won't.

Nor was I quite sure how the valium would make me feel. I knew it wasn't a very strong dose, but I haven't taken anything stronger than an Advil in over 15 years. Plus, as I have already explained hospitals can sometimes be a little surreal for me at the best of times.

I got there, found the X-Ray department, filled in a form, took out a second mortgage on my house to pay for the test, and sat down to wait. Whereupon I began to feel slightly odd. In particular, I found myself staring at all the signs around me, trying to work out what the words said, if read backwards.

As in, "rehpargoidar eht rof tiaw esaelp"- "Please wait for the radiographer" . Or "tnangerp eb thgim uoy kniht uoy fi wonk su tel ot erus eb- seidaL"- "Ladies- be sure to let us know if you think you might be pregnant".

Once I started, I could not stop. So I figured the valium must be working.

I also discovered that one of the nice things about paying for treatment at a private hospital is that in addition to the nasty paper gown tying up the back, they also give you a big fluffy warm white robe to cover your pantless dignity while you wait. And a wee locker for all your gubbins, seeing how you are about to be flat on your back with a tube up the cooter, and will hardly be in a position to mind your handbag.

Excellent. Deep breathing. Letters backward. The doctor will be with you soon. Noos. Noos. Noos.

Once I got into the X-Ray room, there were a few quick questions- had I ever been pregnant? No. Was there a chance I could be pregnant now? No. Had I ever had a test like this before? On. Sorry? On. I mean, no. No.

OK then, all aboard.

Now, I do so hate anybody clamping anything on my cervix, you know, generally, and this was no exception. But it didn't really hurt. It felt a bit...squiggy, I guess is how I would describe, though I very much doubt that is the technical term. When the dye went in, there was a brief sharp period-like ache but that was it. No BURNING, SEARING pain a la Soper *. Thank you, baby Jesus.

[*Read comments section on the last post for this soothing, uplifting description of what may be experienced in some cases.]

The test itself took all of five minutes. I know, because I heard the doctor tell the nurse afterwards, and I lay there for a moment calculating how many £££ per minute. Gah. A lotta lot .

And now the good news- I have a uterus! And fallopian tubes! Right where they should be! The tubes are clear, and all looks normal uterine-wise. I looked over at the X-Ray monitor as I was cinching myself back into a more dignified sitting up position, and there it was- my little dye filled uterus, all as normal as can be. Cute, I thought, looking more closely at the screen while the nurse went to get me a sanitary pad. It's quite cute. Empty, but cute. Etuc.

Now all we can do is confer with Dr Ticktock when we have our appointment next week. Somehow I doubt "cute" is an adjective he will be using, but I don't really care as long as he concurs that all is normal.

And then...? We'll see.