This letter was recently found located mysteriously by the ultrasound instrument at our fertility clinic …
Dear Mr. Ultrasound Wand,
It’s not you, it’s me. We had a good 6 year running. I feel like you really got to know me, very intimately and definitely saw a part of me that no one ever has. You never once complained when I forgot to shave my legs or my lady bits even though at times you could have legitly called me a Yeti. You accepted me for who I was inside, and never my outward appearance. Although tempted I am sure, on no occasion did you veer off in the opposite direction when I was a hormonal mess, jacked up on about 20 different fertility concoctions and medications. My unexpected ill-timed mood swings, fits of rage, distraught over-reactions, bouts of crying for unprovoked reasons … none of this scared you, it was almost welcomed. Through all of this, you were still there for me.
I must say though, I never really liked the blue goop you always used. Nor the fact your operator would act like they were driving a 5 speed at an Indy 500 race, constantly changing gears without any warning. That was a bit off putting, and certainly not the highlight of our time spent together. And what is up with all the stuff you transmitted to the ultrasound monitor? Making the gallery of doctors utter things such as, “Wow those ovaries are very enlarged,” or “Your lining looks very good,” or “Things look promising” when you knew damn well that they were going awry. You devious little devil you! Fooled us all, but we wised up to your ways.
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