Tag Archives: death

New Gynecologist – One Way to Start Your Day.

When you move, you need lots of new things.

New house keys.
New way to get to work.
New utility company.
New curtains.
New stuff in general.

You also get the bonus, if moving far enough away from your current location,
a new cha-cha doctor.

I’m not talking about a dance instructor either.

First of all, the one thing I can’t get over in my mind, is
WHY?
WHY?
W H Y?
Would a man want to be a gynecologist?

It’s not like the female nether-region is a beautiful thing to look at.

Who wants to look at those?

All.
Day.
Long?

After his 50th one, would he not be bored?

No doubt, the next time his lover wants to strip down and have a passionate love making session……he is going to have one of several thoughts:

Eh, I’ve seen better.
Ugh, I don’t want to see another one.
Wow, if they were all as lovely as yours.

I don’t get it.
Which is why I always go with the female gyno.

Besides, she gets the whole concept of having a coochie.

Thank you.

So today I started my day with a visit to my new obgyn.
Excellent. Can’t wait.

First off, I tried to find someone close to my office.
Check. Under 6 miles away, however in Boston that could still be 30 minutes of travel time.

Second, had to be female.
Check.

Third, had to have a good reputation.
Check.

Fourth, I had to be able to pronounce their name.
Check.

There is nothing worse than someone saying, “What’s the name of your doctor?” And the only thing you can say is, “Well, it starts with a SK….”

I turn on my WAZE app – and The Terminator – directs me to the front door of the new doctor’s office. He avoids traffic congestion so I traveled this morning through some neighborhoods that were overflowing with mansions. Tiny, winding, two lanes, through the woods kind of area….and enormous….gargantuan homes. Big enough to hold a medium sized fortress of warriors if necessary. Beautiful.

The downside to this morning’s drive is that I had NO IDEA where I was going and I’m sure the people behind me were very much screaming, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” I’m literally dazed and confused.

Sorry folks, keep calm, I’ll make up my mind in a moment. Okay, it may be two moments. Stand by….I’m waiting on The Terminator.

With fifteen minutes to spare, I arrive at the office.
I’m always late, so this fifteen minutes is obviously a mistake.
OR
I didn’t actually get lost on the way over!

Up to the office I go and check in.
They give me the standard clip board to respond to the various questions.

Do you smoke?
Do you take drugs?
Do you drink?
Do you wear a helmet?
Do you have any allergies?
Do you wear a seatbelt?
Do you drag race?

Yes, seriously, it asked if I wore a helmet.

When they asked me in person, I said, “well, not in daily life.”

Then into the health questionnaire I go….hang on to your hats.
There must have been 100 possible health issues.
At the top it said the usual: check mark if you have / had any of the following:

Acid Reflux
Acne
Aging
Aggravation
Arthritis
Anemia
Angina
Anxiety
Ass issues
Asthma
Athlete’s Foot
Avian Flu
.
.
.
.
.
.
Back Pain
Beetlejuice Complex
Binge Eating
Bird Flu
Blisters
Bloating
Bone Spurs
Bound feet
Bruising
Belly Dancing Fetish
Bulimia
.
.
.
.
.
Heart palipatations
Heart failure
Heart murmer
Heart weakness
Heart attack
Heart value complications
Heart disease
Heart worms
Broken heart
Hemorrhoids
Hearing loss
Hot single last-nerve complex

You get the picture. It was all you would think they’d ask and then everything else.

I didn’t even have a chance to complete my paperwork before they called my name. It was the helmet question that hung me up. I should have taken a photo.

Into the little room I go to verbally answer the questions that were on the paper. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me god.

What I’ve discovered is that I should have check marked, memory failure.

In the interview I was expected to remember things that happened 30 years ago. Seriously. Who remembers when they got their first period? What? No clue. When did I first have sex? What age did I learn to drive? What? When was my first obgyn exam? How old was I when I discovered the truth about Santa? I make them up and advise them of such by adding an “-ish” on the end.

How old was your father when he died?
No clue. Sad. But true.

My answer tactic, is……I turn my head to the left, look out of the corner of my eye to the right, squint and say, “65-ish.”

How old is your mother? I turn my head to the left, look out of the corner of my eye to the right, squint and say, “65-ish.” This, I know is a lie…

Because of the next question….

What age did your grandmother die? I know this one, cause my mother says it all the time, “You know Grandmom died at 65, I shouldn’t live this long.” She is obviously older than 65 – The Mother.

You see a pattern here? I also say out loud that I really need to put this stuff down on a piece of paper. I just don’t remember these things. I only have so much space in this walnut of grey matter. I can barely remember my own phone number let alone how old people are….and when I got my first period.

This concluded our historical overview of my life. I was then advised to get undressed and the doctor “will be in really quickly.”

Seriously?

What doctor ever arrives quickly?

Quickly according to whose watch?

Do you mean quick in patient time?

Quick in a doctor’s time who may or may not always be running late, so today they’re closer to on time?

Doesn’t matter…I do the one thing I can do:
I stripped faster than a dancer at a tits & ass club.

Then I sat.
And waited.

Then I realized I had to pee.

In Alaska, they take a pee sample. So I’ve been waiting to go. There was no mention of peeing in a cup.

I open the door and stick my head out into the hall.

Fear not, I have my gown, which opens in the front – wrapped tightly around my body.

I see a young doctor – MALE – down the hallway.

I don’t see my nurse.

So I wait inside the door. Not two minutes later she comes bounding in – scared the both of us. Apparently the young MALE doctor alerted. Good doctor! Good boy!

I explained the previous doctor always took a sample “What for?” was the response. Well, to test whatever it was they wanted to test.

Then she advised me the gown should go with the opening to the back.

REALLY? This is great news!

Down the hall I go, pee in a cup and turn my gown around.

I return to my little room and not two minutes later in walks my new doctor.

The first thing she tells me, while staring me straight in the eyes is she is an instructor at her hospital and she has a doctor in training.

A
MALE
DOCTOR.

Would I mind if he came in for the appointment?

She then said some more things but I couldn’t get past: MALE DOCTOR IN TRAINING.

I had flash backs to all those hospital shows where the esteemed doctor brings in the interns to see how it works. What?

A MALE DOCTOR IN TRAINING.

The interns gather around the bed. Ask crazy questions. Prolong the experience.

A MALE DOCTOR IN TRAINING.

Do I want not only another doctor looking at my YaZoo but a MALE DOCTOR IN TRAINING?

He’s learning. Not leering.

Meh. Blech. Seriously, is it rude to say no?

I finally snap back into reality and advise her, it’s fine but when it’s exam time – he needs to go.
OUTSIDE.

She waves Dr. Jordan into the room.

Oh My God. It’s the same doctor person I saw in the hallway 5 minutes ago.

He is so young. I don’t even think he shaves yet.

I immediately reach back to make sure my butt is covered in the gown.
Check.

He introduces himself and I shake his hand.

His hand could compete with a freshmen boy at a dance for the sweat factor.

He was more nervous than a short person in a room of giants.

More nervous than the chicken trying to get across the damn road.

Okay, I’m the naked one here.
Are you certain you want to work in this profession?
There’s nothing to be nervous about – seriously.

I mean, if I fall off this table and you see everything cause my gown will have exposed my entire being – then hell yes….we have an embarrassment factor. Overload in fact. But, no need to worry about it, cause I’m not going to fall off the table.

The doctor and I reviewed how I got here, why I moved, my health, the goal for the day etc. I spoke to both of them. They couldn’t believe my age. When I said, I was very dull, she insisted I was quite entertaining. Alright then. Then I literally thought, “oh if you only knew how entertaining….I have a blog.”

Eventually the young and impressionable and awkwardly placed Dr. Jordan was asked to leave the room.

Breast exam. Check.
Feet up. Check.
Poke. Poke. Poke. Check. Check. Check.

Done.

Really?

Okay. Really?
We’re done?

I didn’t have to sit and wait in the lobby.
No peeing in the cup on demand.
I wear the gown with the opening in the back.
I get nervous learning doctor with sweaty hands.
The exam is focused and no nonsense.
I’m in and out in an hour.

Really? We’re finished. Is this good or bad? No idea, but I’m delighted I don’t feel like someone should have bought me dinner after the whole thing.

Eureka.

Now I need to make a note to remind The Mother to send me a note with everyone’s death dates, causes of death and when they discovered the truth about the Toothy Fairy. Someone has to know these things – either than or its off to Ancestry.com.

Somewhere Between a Tree and the Grim Reaper

Well talk about awkward.

I hate awkward moments.

Not so much my moments of awkwardness, where I’ve obviously made a complete and utter ass out of myself, but the awkwardness of someone else always makes me wear my squinty eyes.

Squinty eyes = “well this is awkward” comment….usually silently to self.

Today found me at our regional hospital – bright and early this morning. Fear not – it’s nothing serious, just a routine picture of my brain. I tend to get distracted by glittery things, small fuzzy animals and annoyances — so my brain tends to ache more than others apparently. Really, it’s my third eye that generally throbs the most.

Strangely enough, I was on time this morning. I registered and checked into the radiology department. Since I was ahead of the game I was directed to sit in a small waiting room. I walk in and it’s about the size of an office break room.

Immediately I try and locate a chair that isn’t near someone else – as I like to spread out. Happily I wander to the back of the room and sit down between two end tables. There’s six other people waiting with me and of course I get the once over – which is fine. I, myself, prefer to use my stealthy peripheral vision – rather than gape….but whatever.

There’s a large Christmas tree decorated in one corner and the window looking out to the hallway has been painted over with holiday characters. It is then that I notice the couple directly across from me on the little couch.

She’s sobbing.

Uh-oh.

Awkward.

Great. Now where do I look? I try and look busy with my Blackberry. Well crap. Wonder what happened? Is she sick? Did she just find out she has cancer? Is it one of their parents? Maybe she doesn’t like hospitals. Could be claustrophobia. Too much anxiety will make a person cry. Well crap. I can’t look up. I should have stayed in the bathroom longer….

Suddenly, the music, being pipped in from the holiday elves, has broken through my awkwardness cloud of contemplation. I’ve gone from a level of “this sucks” awkwardness to a “this is bad and would anyone notice if I moved my seat?”

It’s holiday music and not the quiet melody type. It might have been okay if it was something along the lines of “Silent Night” or “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” but no, this was a very zippy rendition of “Deck the Halls.” At least it wasn’t “Feliz Navidad” which causes me to unwittingly belt out a “wah-ha” during the chorus, which would have been uncalled for in this situation.

So there I am listening to Deck the Halls, watching the lights on the Christmas tree and pondering to myself: Oh boy, how could this get any more awkward? That’s when someone’s cell phone starts belching out some terrible, robotic tune. Turns out, it’s the sobbing lady’s partner/husband/boyfriend and he can’t get his phone out fast enough.

Now everyone in this tiny waiting area has turned around to stare at the idiot who didn’t turn off his phone in the hospital and the woman who won’t stop sobbing. Lucky for him, he didn’t answer the phone and just plopped it back in his jacket.

All I could think of is really, the hospital is in a Catch 22. Hospitals are a place people don’t normally like to visit, voluntarily – unless you count my coworker who LOVES the hospital cafeteria. Yet, the hospital is a necessity. People who work in hospitals are usually normal people, just like those who work in an office building, so it’s nice to provide some holiday cheer. The decorations provide a distraction. If enough of the surfaces are covered with bows, lights, wreaths, cards, painted characters etc…people will think they stepped into their neighbor’s house and not the radiology department! Genius idea.

So there I sat in my armchair. Pondering how nice it was the hospital supported Christmas cheer and wasn’t being so PC that they become offensive in ignoring the season. Yet, when you’re sitting across from someone who is obviously in depths of despair, the holiday carols are a bit contradicting.

Awkward.

It’s a great reminder of the yin/yang of life. While one life tumbles into hardships another one is lifted into the beauty of a new beginning. There were seven of us in that room….each with a different pathway through this world and yet, for a brief moment, we were all together, experiencing the same thing….wondering what will come next. We’re all somewhere between the Christmas tree and the Grim Reaper…however we’re not certain what mile marker we just passed.