Yesterday afternoon I paid $10 to have a cold, metal appliance shoved up my, well, girl parts, and get felt up by a man who wasn't my husband.
That's right, it was time for my annual visit to the OBGYN. It's always the same thing - chat with the doctor, get checked out, get prescription, leave as fast as possible. Only this time it started off all wrong. The nurse came in, weighed me (ack), took my blood pressure, then left me to undress (bottoms only) and wrap myself in a paper sheet. Not too difficult. For normal folks, that is.
Apparently I wasn't able to master the sheet. It's long, so I attempted to fold it in half before wrapping it, noticing it barely came all the way around. This caused me to hold on tight while maneuvering myself onto the table, which caused the sheet to rip right by my ass. Nice. I got up, refolded, and did the same thing, causing it to rip again. What the fuck? The thing seemed to be a hundred years old, basically disintegrating into dust before my very eyes. Who do they make those things for? I'm relatively thin, and if I'm having trouble, what happens to the larger gals? It's crazy.
I finally realize this stupid sheet isn't going to work. I need a new one, and pronto. I frantically search every drawer and cabinet in the room while my bare ass is hanging out for anyone who might walk into the room at any time, aka the male doctor. There are no sheets. Finally I locate a new, unopened box on the floor. Do I open it? Hell yes. I got out my keys, opened that sucker, and grabbed a new sheet asap. I chucked the other one in the trash can and managed to successfully wrap the new sheet around me and get onto the table sans mishap.
Of course by this time I'm sweating in my thick sweater and panting. Great. Luckily it was a few minutes before he actually made it into the room. Whew. Crisis averted.
He decided to put me on a different pill when I described the horrible moodiness that takes over my body lately during that special time of the month. I mean it's bad. I really feel sorry for the people in my life during that week. So he writes a new prescription and sends me on my way with a bag of samples of the new pill. I'm sure there's not a generic for this one yet, so I'll have to pay more than usual, which makes the samples especially helpful.
I peeked in the bag once in my car and noticed 3 months worth of samples as well as a nice little cosmetics-type bag (unfortunately with the name of the pill all over it, rendering it unusable). The bag had a month of pills plus a condom (?) and a lip gloss (?). Lots of scenarios ran through my head at that time, none of which made the least bit of sense. I let it go. Who can't use a spare condom and lip gloss?
1 comment:
I had one of those appointments over here a few months back. They do it differently in Ireland - "more natural," they like to say. Right. No paper gowns involved - you drop trou right in front of the doctor and hop up on the table, completely naked waste-down. They seem to think the gowns are too clinical and formal. I know it's all a ruse since they end up seeing everything, but I prefer the privacy of the gown, and I definitely prefer getting undressed in private!
Probably more info than you wanted to know, but I had to share the trauma of that experience, since you brought it up!
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