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Do you know what’s worse than drinking water when you’re not thirsty? Drinking water when you need an ultrasound.

I don’t drink water unless I’m forced.

Today was one of those forced situations. Walking into the radiology department, I could tell my fellow ultrasounders from the X-rayers. Ultrasounders pick the seat closest to the toilets. I know it’s not like you can empty your bladder before the procedure is completed, but you find some comfort just being close to that holy place where swollen bladders are relieved. You just want to be close enough to hear the victorious rumble of the flush and bathe in the glory of the released.

Ultrasounders have shimmering eyes – every orifice and pore in the human body feels like it is filled with water when you are prepared for an ultrasound. Your organs are literally sloshing around in your body and if you walk fast enough you can hear the waves breaking against the wall of your bladder – so you don’t. You sit down, close to the toilet, with your thighs clenched like a catholic school girl. You can’t cough. You can definitely not sneeze. Not even farting is recommended. Ultrasounders don’t page through magazines in the waiting room, because suddenly every single page in every single magazine portrays one or the other water related activity.

So, there I am, eyes shimmering and thighs clenched. Normally I would bounce my right foot up and down. Not today – this might set in motion a tsunami and I didn’t pack dry underwear. I look around me for some moral support. The only other person in the room whose eyes are not glued to the display of a cellphone is the very old man next to me. I’m not sure if he is aware of the fact that he’s even there, but he smells like urine and I contemplate moving away from him – fucking tease. I decide to follow the example of every other patient in the room except for smelly pants next to me. I unlock my phone.

No service. Are you kidding me? I had service right up until I set foot in the consulting room. I switch my phone off and reboot it. It works for everything else in life, right? Smelly pants just coughed – clearly not an ultrasounder. The display powers up – no service. I turn the phone around in my hand like you do with anything you don’t understand. Almost like looking over your shoulder when you trip – involuntary stupidity. Needless to say, the back of my phone tells me nothing. I have no other choice. I start staring at my feet, because surely if I look up I will see water fountains and all things aquatic. Two seats over, a little girl starts pulling on her grandmother’s hand. She needs the loo. I can’t help giving her a death stare – don’t we all you little shit?

I can’t sit for a second longer, so I float to the receptionist – slowly. I ask her if I can step outside for just a second to make a call. I really only want to change seats, but I don’t want to hurt stinky pants’ feelings. The receptionist assures me that it will be fine. I float down the corridor, convinced that people can hear my bladder protesting. I have no doubt that my seat – next to stinky pants – will be taken once I get back because that place fills up like the East Rand Traders Square when there’s a Kurt Darren show. I am not disappointed when I get back – I have to find a new seat. I take a seat next to a mother and daughter on the other side of the room. I open my Kindle app on my phone and start reading until my name is finally called. I follow the radiologist, Vincent, down a long corridor when the power suddenly fails. Seconds later, the generator kicks in and he shows me to a cubicle where I am ordered to take off my clothes – all of it. I replace it with an ugly maroon robe.

I slip my arms into what I think are the sleeves and tie the robe in the back. I look like one of those girls on Escaping Polygamy. Who do they make these robes for? It’s too long and it hangs in places where I can imagine it needs to be snug. I can feel air on my ass and my back is on display. I hold it in place just above my crack and leave my dignity in the cubicle as I’m called into a room for my chest X-ray. Yes, I’m having X-rays, an ultrasound and a mammogram done today. Because my bladder is full and I’m as uncomfortable as a stripper in a convent, they decide to do the X-ray first. The universe hates me like that. This means I will wobble around with my ass hanging out until they finally do my ultrasound. I take my pose for the X-ray and as I lift my arms in the air, I can feel the robe parting like the Red Sea did for Moses. My ass is officially on display and I’m not allowed to move. Vincent politely steps up to close my robe somewhat. The color of my cheeks now resemble the ugly fucking robe.

X-rays done, I’m pushed back into the cubicle to wait for the ultrasound and mammogram. I can hear people chuckling down the hall and I wonder if Vincent just shared the anecdote of my lily-white ass. While I ponder this, I open the Kindle app and carry on reading. In the middle of a steamy scene, another radiologist steps into my cubicle. I almost drop the phone and I’m sure that she now believes that I was watching porn. I follow her down the corridor with the wind on my ass. Into another room we go – mammogram time. Because my bladder is bursting and the universe still hates me.

The female radiologist dips her head to the side and stares at me, frowning.

“That’s interesting. The robe actually goes on the other way around, dear.”

Just fucking shoot me. My ass had been hanging out because I put the robe on the wrong way around. Now Vincent probably thinks I’m a raunchy slut. Should I pretend that I know exactly how the robe should be worn but I just like to set a trend instead of being a follower? I decide that this is no time to be rebellious – this woman will literally hold my boob in her hand in a few seconds. I slip the robe off without saying anything. She looks at my boobs and nods. I nod back. Weird little conversation we’re having, I think to myself.

“Is this your first mammogram, dear?”

Like she couldn’t tell. She flops my boob onto the plate like a fish that needs to be filleted. She then positions my boob and squashes it between the plates, telling me to relax my shoulders. You have my fucking boob in a vice, woman. I remember that there is nothing stopping her from turning on that knob one more time, so I try to relax my shoulders. We do the other side and then she tilts the machine to check my glands.

This part requires a more complicated pose and I have to drape my arm across the machine, lean my boob against the plate, but push my back away from the machine slightly. The end result is a pose that would put Marilyn Monroe to shame. I am draped across the machine, my head thrown back and my ass protruding. I have seen people in this pose. High jumpers – that second before they finally catapult their bodies across the bar and land on the mat. I concentrate so hard that I almost forget to contract every muscle that has the ability to collapse my bladder. With every turn of the knob she clenches my boob tighter and I’m that much closer to actually pissing my pants. Again, she tells me to relax. We repeat the ridiculous pose for the other boob and I’m pushed into another cubicle.

Another lady tells me to take off my robe – which I now wear their boring way – and wait for her on the bed. In any other setting and if I wasn’t in real danger of pissing myself – literally – this would have brought a smile to my face. I lie down and the struggle to gain control over my bladder is more intense. She returns with what she calls nappies that I will use to clean myself up afterward. Silently, I hope that that won’t be necessary. She tells me to relax my arms above my head and squeezes the lube onto my boobs. I’m embarrassed when my nipples jump to attention. The lube is cold, okay.

She pretends not to notice and she starts rolling her probe around my boobs while asking me all kinds of funny questions. Have I had kids? Am I using contraceptives? When you answer no to the above questions at the age of 36, the general consensus is that you’re either Amish, or a lesbian. In this robe, I can pass as both. She finally shuts up and continues to roll the probe around my boobs. She orders me to turn on my side and face the wall. As I roll back my ass hits a blob of lube and I thrust my pelvis in the air. Great. Now she probably thinks I’m a pervert. She tells me to take off my belt. You liked that didn’t you, you nasty little interrogator? Turns out she just wanted to push down on my bladder some more.

She can’t find my left ovary. Look lady, I can assure you that it’s in there somewhere. If you keep pushing that hard, it might actually slip out with the gallon of water that’s in my bladder. Finally, she stops and tells me to stay right there. She returns with a male doctor. He introduces himself to my boobs and adds more lube. I now have more lube on my boobs and tummy than Chasey Lain has ever seen. He rolls his probe around my boobs – see now it just sounds dirty. ‘His probe’ is more offensive for some reason than ‘her probe’. He bids my boobs farewell and heads back to his office. The radiologist says the five most beautiful words I’ve ever heard.

“You may empty your bladder.”

I am left alone with the ‘nappies’ to clean off the lube. I rush through the process – fantasizing about that moment when I can finally let go.

I put the robe back on – the boring way – but it now clings to my lubricated boobs and suddenly it seems a little less boring. I feel a little like Chasey Lain now too. I go back to what I believe was the cubicle where I left my clothes. I’m about to yank open the curtain when Vincent stops me.

“No, madam. You’re in cubicle number five.”

He does. He thinks I’m a raunchy slut who’s trying to take advantage of the young man in cubicle seven that I almost exposed for all to see – much like my lily-white ass. I get dressed in cubicle five and I can almost hear the harps playing as I get closer to the toilets. Just before I enter the bathroom I overhear an assistant informing a new patient that she doesn’t have to take of all of her clothes – just her shirt and bra.

Vincent, you kinky fucker.

I see the sign on the door and very little has ever made me happier. The universe had a change of heart – there is no line. It’s just me. Me and my toilet. Finally.

I drop my pants and the harps begin to crescendo. I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror and finally I know what I look like in the throes of passion. I just sit there and revel in the moment, my elbows on my thighs, eyes closed. I hear a knock on the door and realize that there are fellow ultrasounders still in pain.

When I get to the front, the receptionist hands me my reports.

“That will be R940 madam.”

What? I just showed much more skin that I needed to and they charge me?

I feel a little used.

As I walk out the door I start humming a tune…

Dear Chasey Lain, I wrote to explain………..