The True Story of the Day My Fallopian Tube Fell Out

When my kids were colicky babies, I would sometimes hear the faint sound of a baby crying when I was all alone in a quiet place. But, like the sound of the jingle bell in the Polar Express, I can’t hear it any more.

          The baby cries have been replaced by raucous arguments and occasional swearing in Anglo-Saxon. I try not to complain about anything my kids do, because years of fertility treatment have made me appreciate my kids even in their darkest hours.

          For about eight years I ran a marathon obstacle course that involved mood-altering hormones, something called the dead hamster test, and daily injections of hormones extracted from the urine of post-menopausal nuns from Italy.

          One of the more interesting tests, is the hysterosalpingogram, an X-ray test in which a doctor injects die in the fallopian tubes to make sure there are no kinks or blocks in the tubes. This is the gynecological equivalent to sticking your garden hose down a mole hole in the backyard and trying to wash them buggers out. I was sent home with a promise of no aches, pains, runs, drips or errors.

          But the next morning, just before I flushed the toilet, I saw it. Small and shriveled. With the gray of some creature that had stayed in the cave too long. It looked like a small tube with a blossom at one end. I plucked it out of the toilet and placed it on a gentle bed of folded Kleenex. A quick check with my husband’s college anatomy textbook told me everything I needed to know.

          I held the leathery flower next to the picture on page 288 and there it was. A shriveled up fallopian tube that matched the scientific drawing perfectly. No wonder I was a barren woman in her 30s. My plumbing was inept, incompetent, dead, and now lying in state on a bed of Kleenex. With tearful eyes I called Kalamazoo Radiology and told them, “I had a hysterosalpingogram yesterday, I’m feeling fine, but….but…I think my fallopian tube fell out.” They sounded like they questioned me. ME, someone who actually knew how to spell hysterosalpingogram. But in their professional wisdom, they told me not to worry, just take it easy and call if any bleeding occurred.

          I walked over to my husband’s office and told him the sad news.

          “I know why we can’t get pregnant,” I said, biting my lip.

          “Why’s that?” he answered.

          “I went to the bathroom and my fallopian tube fell out,” I said.

          “What?” he asked incredulously. “Wait. Was this in the downstairs bathroom?”

          “Yes.” I whispered.

          “Oh. That was part of a banana that I threw out.”

          “Part of a banana?” I asked.

          “Yeah. You know. The stem of the banana had a little dried up flower thingy on it and I threw it in the toilet.”

          “And you didn’t FLUSH?” I raised my voice.

          “No.”

          “I JUST CALLED KALAMAZOO RADIOLOGY AND TOLD THEM THAT MY FALLOPIAN TUBE FELL OUT,.” I yelled.

          “Next time I’ll flush.”

          So the dye job worked, as you know. But 16 years later, when I’m all by myself in a quiet house and the kids are at baseball practice, piano lessons and student council meetings, I can still hear the laughter at Kalamazoo Radiology.

          Happy Mother’s Day.