Thursday, October 10, 2013

A Visit to the Box Doctor

I bet this blog was not what esupplystore had in mind when they made this graphic

I am singing and dancing and filled with glee! In fact, I am chock full of all that hyper-ness that makes people love me from a great distance, and fear me when I'm in the same room with them. 

No, I'm not bipolar (probably). Why am so I freakin' happy? I got a free pass at the Box-Doctor today!   

I'm sorry if that term offends you; Box-Doctor is a term coined by my ex-sister-in-law. I always called it the O B G Y N because it was the doctor that Could Not Be Named. Now that I am an adult, of course, I don't use abbreviations. I call it by the proper name:  the Vaginologist.  

The Annual Exam is something to be dreaded in great disproportion to the amount of actual discomfort that actually goes on there.  Really, it doesn't take that long, and it isn't as bad as a lot of other things.  But it feels invasive and humiliating. And I got to skip it! Yay!

This morning as I showered I contemplated whether or not I should partake in my normal shaving routine.  Would my female doctor, older than me by a few decades, feel my normal nether-hair style inappropriate?  Should I have grown in a full-on hippy bush to look more matronly?  Or would excessive nether-hair seem unhygienic to a woman who has to rummage around between women's legs all day?


For those of you who are now wondering the same thing, I got my question answered!  My doctor doesn't care one bit about hair.  It's feet that she has problems with. Stinky, dirty feet a mere eighteen inches from her head.  She wishes everyone would wear socks.  Aren't you glad I asked?

I went to the doctor, and the nurse weighed me, checked my blood pressure, and ran some sort of scanning wand over my forehead so rapidly I am sure it could not have registered my temperature. I think it was some sort of scan to determine my feasibility for alien abduction, but the nurse would never admit to that. 


She asked why I was there, and when I fussed up to needing my annual exam, she apologized.  This big, strong nurse who looked like she could lift a school bus admitted that  she hated it as much as I did.  "Look," she said, "I am in the medical profession. I know we all need to get an annual exam. But we don't have to like it."

Image: Kim's Word on Food

I went in to the room and waited an hour. A different nurse came in and asked me what swabs I wanted run, and I told her I had no earthly idea, that I would do whatever the doctor suggested. She gave me an evil glance then huffed away, saying that she would just have to go ask my doctor then. Shouldn't she have done that anyway?

My doctor, who is now one of my top ten favorite doctors of all time,  came in and said that at my age I no longer need to get annual paps!  She said I could skip it this year!  And then she said I have to go down the street and have my boobs smashed between two metal plates and shot with x-rays to test for cancer.   Guess you can't win 'em all.

No comments:

Post a Comment

I'd love to hear what you think! If a public comment is just too public for you, feel free to email me at

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.