Why Wouldn’t You Want To Be a Gynocologist When You Grow Up?

MARCH 29, 2017.

When Emma was a pre-schooler, the teacher asked all the kidlets what they wanted to be when they grow up.  “A fireman!”, “A teacher!”  Then our daughter blurted out “A leader”!  Not one child admitted they wished to pursue a career in gynecology.  Go figure.

So today I had “The most funnest day of the year” and got all that girlie stuff taken care of.  “How ya doing?” asked the Dr., “”Great!  This is my favorite day of the year!” (my usual comeback, try it, they’ll practically snort stuff out their nose.  I just do it for the reaction and it really eases the tension in the room.

So, after 2 hours I was finally released from unflattering gowns and stirrups and paper tablecloths and got to go home.  After everyone in the entire building had seen my gi gi and boobs.  If this is making you uncomfortable, turn the page.  Or get over it.  It’s reality, man.  I think I made a lot of friends today because the three rotating receptionists kept screwing up my appointments so I had to hang out longer.  The laryngitis helped speed things up.  Or else they were thinking, “Next stop for this one: Puzzle Factory (loonie bin)”.  There was a lot of scribbling on forms; they looked very serious but they were laffing.  I just made light of the whole thing.  I had fun with a very unpleasant situation.  They liked my sense of humor.  So much so that they invited me back on Monday for a bone density scan and then I don’t need another oil change for a year.  Unless they scan my messed up knee and then they’ll find enough screws and plates to start a hardware store.  Good second career, that hardware store business. Sorting screw and nails is far more appealing to my mind than … yeh …. well, you know.

Yeh, so, I hate going to the Doctor.  Because I always convince myself on the way there that it’s a) incurably terminal and b) I really should be home defrosting the freezer right now because if I need emergency surgery what will happen to the new bag of fresh ice cubes?   So I took an Uber because I didn’t feel like tackling rush hour traffic.  That was fun, too.  The trees are blossoming in full force and it’s absolutely glorious today, 80 degrees.  What better day to hang out in an OB/GYN’s office folks?

Anyway, I really liked my Doctor, we hit it off before the intimate part.  Shudder.  I just go to my ‘Faraway Place’ where I’m 15 and jumping merrily over picnic tables on my pony and count to ten. Then I bound off the table, gown flapping, like I’m being pursued by a herd of wild boars.  But I survived it and it’s over.  I still feel somewhat violated. But it’s over, Thank Gawd.
Missi commented that I should at least get a ribbon for participation.

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