The Great Flood...I mean, Ultrasound

The morning arrives for my first ultrasound. If you have ever endured morning sickness, you know that water is the curse of the ill. Does that paper of instructions the nurse gave me say thirty-two ounces, or two?
Please, oh please, say two…
UGH! It does say thirty-two!
I hesitantly fill a large sports bottle with thirty-two ounces of water. Geesh, I better get going on this thing. I have only so much time to drink it all. I get twelve ounces down and already the room is spinning. I ponder the wisdom of continuing, but I gulp down 12 more ounces before I can think further.
Elevator going up!
So, being naïve and hopeful that I am after a visit to the bathroom, I actually refill the bottle to thirty-two ounces and try again. Again I am dizzy, but determined to get a perfect picture of our womb baby. So, of course, I try again.
And again.
And again.
My husband is unable to leave work to come to this first ultrasound, so I am flying solo. I have finally managed to down twelve ounces before dashing out the door and arriving at the radiology department at the local hospital. Still queasy and uneasy about not meeting all the requirements, I sit. And sit. And sit. And sit.
Though not all the water remained, I suddenly realize something awful. I need to relieve my bladder.
Badly.
I think to look for a bathroom, but realize that I cannot go until after the ultrasound. I attempt to distract myself, but the torture escalates quickly as time passes. I am actually breaking a sweat and my bladder is going into spasms. I realize that there is a good chance I will become incontinent right here in the waiting room. I frantically look around and try to take a head count of who will be going before me. I try to watch the overhead television. I try to read articles, but it’s no use.
My name is FINALLY called, but I cannot stand up. My legs are paralyzed. My bladder has rendered me momentarily unable to walk. I force myself upright and feel like a filled balloon is wedged on my front. Now I really feel pregnant. Time to work those Kegals. I am desperately trying to get a hold on things together when I am led to a room...walking like I've been glued together to my kneecaps...and asked to lay on a table.
Then I see it. A wand.
Oh, NO! She is actually going to press that on my bladder. I’ll never make it. I’ll never make it. I can barely hold it as I confess my water ordeal to the technician. I swear I saw her turn and laugh to herself.
Technicians have a dark side...I know it!
I make it on the table and I cannot talk as she starts her torture on my poor bladder. I am actually starting to make silent promises to it.
Just hold it together and I won’t drink more than four ounces at a time again. I promise.
I wasn't quite prepared for the tech to be pointing out to me the Planter’s peanut man... sans top hat, monocle, and shoes...but there you have it.
It was love at first sight.
Another mother's heart touched.
When the tech was finished, I jumped off the table, forget my pride, and barrel to the adjoining restroom.
I was so happy to see my old friend, la commode, for the first time in a long time.
And, everyone alive within my visual distance...who did not run away from me...got to see the sweet little Peanut Man as I trailed along the ultrasound pictures wherever I went.