So first I was sent to an ultrasound. Of my kidneys. A-1 kidneys. I went back to the doctor. Looked hopeful that she'd just close the case and that was that. But no. Now, it was time for the cystoscopy. As in...a camera in my bladder. You know where they stick the camera in, right? I pleaded, citing numerous websites (from frantic hypochondriacal hours on the internet, hoping to read definitively somewhere that I wasn't going to die) that said that a cystoscopy almost never found any cause for my...symptom. She just looked at me and said, do it, get it over with, and you'll never have to think about it again. Ah damn, good point.
So I went to the other specialist. Wore a pretty dress and pretty shoes for the heck of it. Was called in. Asked to leave clothes there, sit there, scooch up there. I asked if I could live tweet it. They looked at me funny. I asked if I could take pictures. They looked at me funny again. Asked if I could keep my shoes on. They pointed to a spot on the floor and said I could leave them there. Tough crowd. All women though, that was something at least.
They prepped me and got down to business. Not fun, but I didn't die. I was told that my bladder lining was a rosy pink. Not sure if that was positive or not.
Here's a picture of the procedure.
Unlike like the victim in the picture, I mean patient, I didn't get to follow along on a screen, which kind of pissed me off, but not enough to make me want to do it again.
They found nothing, the symptom is now in my journal as a quirk that my body has, I have chronic micro-hematuria, and that's that. Quite happy about that, wasn't keen on the other options.