Lately i've been all wrapped up in turning 40 and all of the fun that comes with it (see here). And by wrapped up I mean- twisted in knots with indigestion and abdominal instability. To make things worse, Mother Nature seems to have lost her ever loving mind and forgotten how to read a calendar.
Before I get too far into my epic adventure to the Gyno Monday- Team Sticks- you may leave the room. Really, pack up and run to the store for some random item you don't need. Avert your eyes. Go watch sports. If you should choose to stay put and read on - well don't ask me to refund the little piece of your mind you are about to lose. Team Lady Bits please read on. I need a hug. Or a margarita. Yeah- skip the hug and just send alcohol my way. Hugs are fleeting and booze sticks around for hours.
To begin this whole epic adventure in lady parts issues, that bitch Aunt Flo over stayed her welcome by 16 days. Six. Teen. (See here ) So I do what any rational woman (shut the hell up Team Sticks...they do to exist) would do and I make an appointment with the Gyno. Because unless Tampax would like to give me some sort of endorsement deal or a frequent flyer bonus, this crime scene has to wrap up already. Really, I have the super hot man and I can't do anything with him. It's like having a fucking Lamborghini in the garage and I can't drive it. Oh, and tan pants are off the wardrobe menu as are cute underwear and things that don't have Spandex in them. So I go- and the nurse does the usual thing: weight (bitch), blood pressure, questions all of my answers on the patient information sheet and then progresses to ask me what it looks like. Gee, I didn't know you needed a sample. Give me a fucking Etch & Sketch or some cherry Jell-O with cookie dough chunks in it and I will show you. WTF? Enter the doctor. Same questions- same answers- but less polite. Not because she's unlikeable- just the opposite- she's quite nice and has a great manner about her. It's just that freakin' Nurse Wrachet just revealed to me what was on the tray under the blue medical cloth. KY, gloves, a spilunkers light and 3 speculums. Pardon me but I only have one uterus and vag- not three. Unless you count the rest of my personalities and we sort of all share this one body. But, hey, thanks for the vote of confidence!
So we proceed with the
groping examination and oh so fun pap smear with the fun house sized Q-Tip. No visible reason for the issues so lets get a pelvic sonogram and a biopsy. Now- ok I wasn't ready for that but since you're down there. But then I am directed to get up. "All done, let me go get the orders for you", she says. What. Huh? As it turns out, those two things have to be done during my next period. Is she fucking out of her mind! Really? Let's think about this. I don't even want to be in that general area during that time and I am supposed to let some strange lab technician probe me with a pelvic sonogram wand while I am on the rag, bitchy, swollen and generally homicidal? Do they get hazard pay? Because if I get a man tech , or worse- a hot man tech, that is supposed to assault me with the Star Trek Dildo Scanner I swear to Jesus and the Pope that he is going to wish he had hazard insurance because I will rip his head off and kick him in the nads. Oh and the biopsy, same place and day as the sonogram. Do I get a fucking steak dinner and a movie with this date? Because I am starting to feel like a hooker- except I have to pay THEM a co-payment.
So I grab my lab orders and say thank you for the most epically screwed up Monday ever and head for the door. "Wait", I hear, "One more order. You're turning 40 soon so we need to order a baseline mammogram. You'll get another one on your birthday". Great. I can hardly wait to have my boobs squished like crepes. Twice. Yep, fourty is all kinds of shits and giggles. Hoorays!
|"No, Cat, it's not noticeable at all. Really."|