So I went to the lady parts doctor today. Sitting up in the stir-up chair with a thin sheet of construction paper over my bathing suit areas is just how I wanted to start my morning. There were two posters in the room. One was a picture of a flower which I’m assuming was some knock off Georgia O’Keefe or it was alluding to the fact that vaginas are like pretty flowers. Is it racist if the flower was white? The other poster in the room screamed at me DO YOU HAVE HPV? I don’t but after having a staring contest with the damn thing for 20 minutes, I imprinted in my mind that I, not only had ovarian cancer, but herpes and a bad case of the Mondays (a day late).
The entire exam was done in two minutes. My near tears of waiting in the relatively warm waiting room was for not. I did however find out how Jordan Sparks lost 50 pounds and finally figured out the difference between Ann Curry and Katie Couric, thank you Women’s Home Journal.
Crazy thing about women’s magazines is that they talk about one of four things; diet and eating healthy (whatever that means), fashion, new weight loss work outs, and the cure to all relationship woes and non-orgasms. I was none too interested in most of the magazines, opting to read the book I brought and wallow in self-misery about having my vag cranked open by a very pretty doctor. Needless to say, it’s the most action my gender-specific vag-tastic friend has seen in some time.
They had to take my blood pressure which turned out to be coming in at borderline heart attack levels. They asked me why it might be so high. I gave them one of the following reasons:
1. I had to get up at 6am after not sleeping all night due to the insane amount of sugar I consumed with a gigantic slurpee and sweating profusely because my parents refused to turn the air on
2. I was getting gender-specific maintenance performed and I’m none too happy about that and as you can see I am shaking and sweating abundantly. (I leave out the part of me shitting my guts out and dry sobbing in the lobby bathroom. I do have some sense of dignity)
3. You’re a doctor and therefore scare the shit out of me
4. I have to work after this and it’ll take me 50 minutes to get to the office. Also, it’s you know, work.
5. See 2
6. See 3
7. I have this insane fear that you’ll have to take blood and then forget you’re taking blood and I will drain completely of all fluid.
8. Daily stresses of everything have me on the verge of an existentialistic crisis every other hour and I just want to figure shit out and then go do said shit and be awesome and super intense and well-respected.
They ended up taking my blood pressure 3 times. Each time it dropped significantly. When everything was all said and done, I got a weird look from the nurses— probably hoping I wasn’t going to hyperventilate, my prescription and a recommendation for a good therapist, as well as a coupon for half off at Cold Stone. Overall, not too shabby of a Tuesday morning.
And now, the worst pick-up line gynecologists probably hear: You’re face would look better between my legs.
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