Flotsam

Total Testosterone: 32
Normal! Elevated would be around 50! Secretly, when the nurse tells me this, I am not surprised. As ridiculous as it is, I kept thinking If I have high Testosterone levels, wouldn’t I have been better at Gym?
Then I got the rest of my numbers…

Free! Testosterone: 4.4
(% Free! Testosterone: 1.4)
The reference range for Free! Testosterone is .7-3.6. The only place Google found levels like mine were in messages from MEN who were concerned about their high free testosterone levels.
But then my percentage of free testosterone is in the low normal range…for an adult male.

I interrupted the chirpy nurse’s assertions that “Everything looks good!” (perhaps she is not a nurse at all but actually a parrot/myna bird or similar? “Free testosterone 4.4! SQUAWK! Everything Looks Good!”) to say “Look, based on my bloodwork, it seems obvious that the next step is going to be an ovarian ultrasound. I have an 11:15 appointment with The Special GYN tomorrow—can we just go ahead and schedule an ultrasound for tomorrow afternoon, since I’ve already taken the afternoon off work?”
Nurse Parrot lapsed into a shocked silence and then murmured that she would check with The Special GYN, but I would probably have to “Actually see the doctor” first (Ooh, Snap!). She hung up, no doubt wondering just who I think I am, getting stroppy with her and ordering my own ultrasounds. It must be all that testosterone!

20 minutes later, Nurse Parrot called me back to say I have an ultrasound scheduled for 9:45 a.m. (which—correct me if I’m wrong–is not actually in the afternoon, as requested, and will necessitate me taking most of the morning off work as well.).
Now, here is why I need your help, Internets—and I need it before tomorrow morning:
My bladder possesses a level of shyness bordering on Social Anxiety Disorder—I have never been able, with any regularity, to provide samples for Doctor’s appointments, and almost didn’t get a job with my current company because of the pre-employment drug screening (which requires you to provide a urine sample within 90 seconds–in order to prevent prospective employees having time enough to substitute/doctor their pee samples. It took me five tries to do this, and after my 3rd failed attempt I left a message on the voicemail of the company’s human resources representative saying sarcastically that I hadn’t realized the ability to urinate on demand was so highly prized in a member of their editorial team).

The point of all this is that Nurse Parrot has instructed me to come with a full bladder tomorrow—they wish to do a regular transabdominal scan, followed by a transvaginal as necessary. I will be instructed to empty my bladder at the clinic prior to the transvaginal scan.
This is not a possibility. It is just not—I have been in this situation before, when pregnant. Despite needing to urinate so badly I was in physical pain, I could not empty my bladder. I ran water, I thought of lakes, streams, waterfalls—finally the WandMonkey stood outside the bathroom door and reminded me that she had other appointments, and I emerged, defeated. She was subsequently unable to locate my ovaries because my full bladder was “in the way.”
So, tomorrow’s Dildocam operator is going to be mad at me, one way or another.
But which would be preferable?:

A. Go to appointment with full bladder, as instructed, enabling WandMonkey to do only a transabdominal (and less effective, I imagine) scan
B. Defy instructions and risk infuriating WandMonkey by appearing with empty bladder, rendering transabdominal scan impossible but allowing clear view of ovaries through transvaginal scan

I am leaning towards the latter, but could use some advice. But do not underestimate the reticence of my bladder by suggesting ways to trick it into performing. It is too wily for that, I assure you.

On an entirely unrelated note, did anyone see America’s Next Top Model last night? I found it quite instructional that the girl who was eliminated was cut despite being obviously one of the most attractive contestants. It did not escape my notice that on two separate occasions she appeared before the judges wearing a peasant skirt (on another occasion she wore those horrible “Gauchos”—short widely flared pants that look as though they were stolen from a tiny, tiny sailor). While her peasant skirtedness was not mentioned by the judges as a reason for her elimination, I cannot help but find it significant that none of the less attractive girls who were spared were dressed like witchy fortune-tellers. Let this be a lesson to us all.