Sunday, May 9, 2010

Dinah's Vagina

It's that time of year again...got my letter from my doctor's office reminding me to book an appointment for my pap test (pap smear just sounds so dirty -- I know you smear the sample on the slide, but really, do we need to think about smearing things around?). Like the good procrastinator I am, I finally got around to phoning after a month or so. Our clinic has just started a Well-Women program, where the new female doc from South Africa does all the gyno appointments late into Tuesday nights for anyone who feels more comfortable with a woman. Hey, I'll swing either way, but since she's available and the appointments are in the evening... The earliest I could get in to see her was 6 weeks! Talk about popular!

So my Tuesday night rolls around and I've refrained from eating beans, cabbage, dairy and such, I'm waxed and showered for my big date. I get in the car and immediately my tank is full of gas. WTF??? I release some pressure and for the whole 5-minute trip I am putt-putting along, all the while telling myself, "Don't fart, don't fart". It's true what they say, your brain doesn't hear don't.

I have barely sat in the waiting room and my name is called. Down the hall I'm given a paper gown, which I'm told can go on front or back. I remove my clothes and think I'll leave the front open for the breast exam, but the rustly paper doesn't quite have enough girth to stay closed. So I opt for the opening in the back. Being 5'2", I'm well-acquainted with the step, so I pull it out from the table and back my behind up to the paper-lined table. As I raise my cheeks to sit, the whole table begins to tip and slams down with a metallic bang. Frig. This thing's not weighted down at all. I hope no one comes in to see what the banging is about! Several clangs and bumps later, I'm sitting on the table with my naked butt facing the door because the stirrups are facing away from the door. For obvious reasons... This gown is clearly not made for modesty. I try to tuck my cheeks in without tearing the gown and remind myself not to fart. I do some deep breathing and mental self-talk.

The lovely doctor comes in and introduces herself and immediately I like her. She's a little chubby, has a great accent and cute shoes. When my doctor retires, I want her. Her easy conversation puts me at ease, and her plastic speculum is not cold like the metal ones I'm used to. Also, she doesn't use half a tube of Spectro Gel (I'm not old and dried up, my lubrication systems works fine, thank you). Her exam is very thorough, and I'm not embarrassed to ask any questions. She writes me up for blood work to see if my thyroid, hormone, and blood count levels are normal, because I'm so often fatigued and fat-assed. It always comes back normal, so maybe I'm just lazy and eat too much!

The breast exam reveals a small lump in my left boob, so she refers me to radiology for a scan to make sure it's just a cyst. My mom has lots of cysts in her breasts but my grandma had breast cancer, so better safe than sorry. (Turns out the earliest I can get in is July, which is really not that much of a wait considering things are usually backed up like an old man off his prunes.) I'm not worried because there's nothing to worry about yet. If I get bad news I'll start worrying then.

Anyway, the appointment is over so I gingerly hop off the table with much less effort and a lot less noise.  Back in the car, my butt sighs with relief. I open a window.

Two weeks later, I haven't heard anything back from the pap test so it's "no news is good news". I guess my hoo-hah is happy and healthy. Hooray!  Now to hear what my blood and my boob have to say.

1 comment:

Eva Gallant said...

I just browsed through your last 4 or 5 posts and have to follow you!