Editors note – This blog is for girls. It is not for boys. Boys, please wait for the next blog.
So today was especially irritating. House showing = dog moving = getting no work done.
Then I had to go to the women’s hospital to get films from the tests I took a few weeks ago. My doctor felt a lump. Which for some reason didn’t really freak me out. It probably should have. So I came in and did the whole gamut of tests that I’m certainly too young for.
For all you kids out there, let it be on the record. Mammograms are not fun.
All the tests were fine, but the doctor still referred me to a specialist. She said she wanted to know what was going on, and so I needed to go see Dr Ben.
So today I spend an hour at the hospital and they can’t find my films. They CAN’T FIND THEM. Which didn’t help me feel so safe and secure with their protocol.
So I’m a little on edge when I’m running over to the new doctor’s office sans films, irritated by the long line for the valet parking (there was no regular parking), and even more un-amused by the stack of paperwork that I now have to fill out as a new patient. The girl who worked at the office was very funny and we made the best of the situation.
I’m lead back to a small room and told to disrobe down to my camo shorts and put on the always-fashionable hospital gown – opening to the front. And then I wait, because that’s what you do at a doctor’s office. There’s a stack of Family Circle magazines. I intend to steal a page from one particular issue thanks to a really delicious looking recipe for beef and rice noodles.
And then the door opens. And I forget about the magazine.
Flashback to the mid 80s, when Mel Gibson is on Saturday Night Live – the sketch is where he is the Dream Gynecologist. Waiting room full of women, dressed to the 9s, waiting for their exam. When their name is called, they brush their hair and sachet their way into the exam room. Do you remember this?
Mrs. Scott: I’d like to book my next appointment now, please.
Secretary: Good idea, Mrs. Scott. Okay, the doctor can see you in six months
Mrs. Scott: No! Next week!
Secretary: [ sighing ] Please, Mrs. Scott. We go through this every time.
Mrs. Scott: I need another breast exam!
Secretary: You just had one.
Mrs. Scott: I’m extremely cautious!
Secretary: Okay, look – September 4th, six months from now. Take it or leave it.
Mrs. Scott: Alright, alright[ exits the lobby ]
Now this moment is completely disarming– what are you supposed to say when your breast specialist is hot? He says something wonderful like “so what seems to be the problem” and I follow up with something about being a hypochondriac. He replies by telling me to breathe deep (he had that stethoscope thing, but I think that was all an act). I already was, so it really wasn’t complicated.
It makes perfect sense I guess. It’s smart to go into a profession where you work with what you know. And I’m sure in High School and college, this doctor got his fair share of first hand knowledge of the subject matter.
And as the exam goes on, all I can think is how unfair this is. I mean, I was expecting some old creepy doctor guy and now I’ll I can think is how embarrassing it is that I haven’t been to a nude beach this summer, so I have some apparent tan lines.
I paid $50 to be there, thanks to my generous Humana co-pay. You can write in your own commentary there.
He had a very gentle and proper bedside manner, which made me think that he probably spends much of his off time on medical trips to third world countries, rescuing puppies and recycling.
It’s also slipped my mind that at any moment he could mention something about the impending hair loss and financial destruction that I could be facing. The next words could have implications of moving back home with mom and dad where I get to wear fabulous colorful head wraps to cheer me up from the constant throwing up from the poison that I get to ingest to stop the C–cer from spreading. And maybe that’s why he’s good at his job – he can get your mind temporarily away from your doom … and instead place your thoughts squarely into the gutter.
And now – the verdict…
I drink too much coffee.
Apparently I have a fibrocycsiccondition which can mimic lumps in breast tissue. Best remedied by cutting out caffeine and chocolate. Oh, and you can take Vitamin E as well.
I think I said something to the effect of him being an evil man, but that I was relieved that I didn’t have hypochondria…or cancer. And that everyone needed a vice, and mine was coffee and so if it didn’t lead to anything bad, I’d just rather keep drinking the coffee thank you very much.
But imagine my happiness when he said “well, you will need to come back for a six month check up.”
Take it or leave it.
I sigh. Alright. Alright.