OK…let’s talk GYN. For those Old Ancestor’s that cringe at this topic…plug your eyes. I’m not talking about the GIN that I tasted from my fathers basement bar, although I could just Tanqueray all day on that topic, all the way to Bombay……..No my Beef– that is eating me is what goes on behind closed stirrups. First and foremost I would like to know why should a person who is missing internal feminine reproductive body parts need to visit the Gyno anyway? Why that’s like taking your car into the garage for tune up without an engine present. What are they going to see? The Rabbit hole. Maybe find Alice hosting a tea party atop your bladder. More sugar please.…oh wait I have type two diabetes…..”That’s splenda!” yells the Mad Hatter.
No, the Gyn Dr. needs to check you out just to make sure nothing has imploded or fallen through the black hole. I thought my days hopping up in the stirrups had ceased since the hysterectomy but Dr. Dale Evans and nurse Roy Rogers say to “giddy-up” and “saddle-in” cause we’re “gunna have a look-see”… After the Doc dons her Minor’s helmet with the glowing headlight attached and buries her head under a sheet that barely covers your thighs, she then starts to investigates what is MINE. No noticeable nuggets noted. I read her notes. I don’t know which is worse, lying there while the Dr. shines a spotlight between your legs and holding a silent conversation with your vagina, or after the exam having to discuss face to face what the findings are. These visits in the past always went relatively swift and you were in and out faster than my first boyfriend in high school. It’s the conversation at the end that I’d like to omit. My Gyno made a gesture toward small talk and brought up my having taken a trip to Italy and then we ended with talking about bladder infections and sex with husband’s after a dry spell. Then she added: “So, how’d that go?”. …… “Oh it was O.K.”, I sheepishly said , and I continued; ” you know…being over fifty, and well, not being as active as we were in our thirties…”smirk..smirk…..Then it dawned on me she was referring to the trip to Italy…not the sex with the husband. I love awkward silence. I haven’t felt that since my ass woke up first from my colonoscopy and played a spontaneous round of Beethoven’s 5th in Gas Minor….accompanied by a paper gown that was blown open between beats….
The last time I found myself in a backward gown I was having an MRI done for a back injury. My physician thought it best to prescribe a mild opiate to take prior to the procedure because I am deathly claustrophobic. I think that stems from when I was six my brother sealed me in the cardboard box that the dishwasher came in and he neglected to add air holes. I pity the siblings of the guy that invented the MRI machine……..My orthopedic doctor gave me five pills of five milligrams each and told me to “take as needed for relaxation”. I asked him what the maximum dosage that one could ingest before I ended up in a coma or wearing a toe tag. He informed me that I could take all five and would be fine. Well…. while sitting in the waiting room of the Diagnostic Imagery office I felt the anxiety starting to rise up in me as I envisioned myself in a tube with no movement or windows, or, God forbid…air holes. I popped one of those pills and waited 15 minutes and felt nothing but more anxiety so I popped another. I started to feel a little woozy in the waiting room and I didn’t want other patients to notice my odd behavior or drooling so I tried to act as normal as possible. I reached for a magazine to read. One of the attendants called my name and had me rise and follow her to the changing area. My rubber legs made it to the dressing room and I plopped down onto a bench still clutching the Tabloid. I barely recall changing into the backless gown, but I did, and I continued to sit on the bench with my legs crossed and attempted to read my magazine….which I was holding upside down. The last thing I remember is sliding off the bench and slipping through the curtain onto the floor in the hallway of the MRI room and doing a face plant on the Sexiest Man Alive with my Hind End pointing a Southern exposure facing the waiting room. Apparently I had picked out the November 2006 issue of People from the lobby. I do remember the MRI machine and giggling like a lunatic who has escaped the psych ward in the asylum. And I would like to apologize to all the staff at the Imagery Office who gave up their lunch hour to assist me back into the upright position and lead me back to my clothes and sent me home in a cab.…….
Although I do need to remember to mail their gown back….right after I refill my GIN glass……….spread the humor…