How I Know I'll Make A Good Mother.

Anyone out there who has ever spent two weeks in any sort of pain/discomfort combo understands that after awhile, the kindness stops. I mean really, it stops and threatens to never come back again. Because how can you expect me to be patient and smile when I'm considering the pros and cons of shooting a bullet right through my head? C'mon now!

So today I had my CT Scan. I went in, filled out a silly little survey and put on a mysterious paper gown with a friendly tone of voice. I even made jokes, because damnit, I was going to not make this difficult! I'm an adult, I was more than willing to suck it up and do my thing.

But I was waiting in a tiny coffin-sized room in a gown with the textile integrity of a dryer sheet while my mom stood outside when a wonderful woman named Sharon comes back with a nervous smile.

"I'm sorry, but there seems to be a problem. See, your doctor says that you could be pregnant, and so we can't run your scan until we can be sure that you're not."

A little side-note here, unless pregnancy is now an airborne disease, there is no possibility that I am pregnant. End of story. Of course, I have always had the irrational fear of being pregnant, like I would be the one person in the would who was A-sexual. But really, I'm just Bi-sexual and that's not even properly related to this story.

In a perfectly polite, composed, world I would have responded calmly "this isn't possible, my doctor is just being a complicated ass, would you like me to take a pregnancy test?" My actual response, however, went a little something like this:

"Are you kidding me? I'm not pregnant, I'm not even active! Why would I lie about something like that? My doctor is an idiot, he's an asshole, I AM NOT PREGNANT! Why would I get this test done if I were pregnant? WHO WOULD RADIATE A BABY!?!?"

Except add a few expletives and me saying over and over "I am DONE at my doctor's office. I am never going back to that hell-hole ever again, that fucking insufferable prick KNOWs I'm not pregnant, I told him four times! WHAT SORT OF PERSON WOULD BUT AN INFANT THROUGH RADIATION?!?"

And then I attempted to eat the wonderfully kind technician whose face had crumpled into panic briefly before resuming her nervous smile.

"I will be right back." She said quietly, "I'll see what I can do"

Apparently, my indigence paid off, because they believed me and I was allowed to lay on a freakishly long table while a giant donut machine groaned at me and radiated my insides. What a raving success.

Of course, between my virginity and my screaming about the horror of radiating unborn fetuses, there is an excellent chance that the treatment center thinks I may be Mormon.