Tuesday, March 8, 2011

THESMALLPRINT

it's that time again.

no, not time to see the dentist or my accountant (although, april 15th IS just around the corner . . .).

it's time for my yearly nether region check-up. or, as an ex-boyfriend used to call it, "the heart of darkness" check-up. which i think is totally bogus, not the least of which because there aren't any skulls or savages in my vagina.

not yet, anyway.

i really should be a big girl and cut out all the bullshit, but i have a bad track record with gynos. really bad.

until recently, i've always had male gynecologists. not a problem, right? wrong. they were either too nice (read: creepy) or mean ("why does a single woman need birth control?" i shit you not. a gyno ACTUALLY said that to me once). either over-the-top male feminists or misogynists.

but like i said, my current gynecologist is a woman. and a damn good, solid, honest, intelligent one at that. a real broad. a woman's woman. and i like her.

so, why don't i want to go?

i'll tell you.

last time i went to see dr. j, i nearly committed suicide.

where shall i begin?

let's start with the bathroom debacle.

i arrive and ask to use the ladies'. so, i go. but because i am a SERIOUS germophobe, i don't sit on the toilet. i hover. but because i bend too far over, the piss runs off my crotch and onto my underwear, pants and i even get some on my socks.

awesome.

then, dr. j's lovely nurse escorts me into the examination room, instructs me to disrobe fully and hands me a napkin.

ok, ok, it wasn't a napkin, it was a hospital gown the size of a napkin.

ok, ok, it wasn't a small gown, i'm just a fatass.

that's right, i said it: i'm a fatass.

i get naked and try putting on the gown and it only covers the front of my body.

excellent.

so, i sit in the examination chair and wedge myself in, hiding my backside, but not my complete and utter humiliation. not a problem, though. i'm used to humiliation.

dr. j finally comes in and we chit-chat, blah, blah, blah . . .

it's time for the exam.

she gets up and steps on the pedal that turns the examination chair in which i'm sitting into an examination table--almost as if by magic (but really it's hydraulics).

BUT NOOOOOOO . . .

not this time friends.

no.

the chair/table begins making the sorts of sounds buffalo make when they're fucking. wild, beastly, primitive, undomesticated, feral, barbaric fucking.


it snorts. it coughs. it barks. it moans. it wails and whines and whimpers and whoops and eventually CATCHES FIRE under the strain of lifting my robust figure.

ok, it wasn't a really big fire or anything, but it was a fire nevertheless! there was smoke, alright?!

all the while, dr. j smiles awkwardly, sheepishly and says, "you fucking cunt, you just broke my exam table! this darn thing is sooooooo old. it's not YOU, honey. i just need to get a new chair."

uh, NO, dr. j, i just need liposuction and a muzzle.

then, both of us, red-faced and rattled, get up and move to the examination room next door.

well, dr. j does.

me? i stay put, mortified on a number of levels. i mean, honestly, does she really expect me to move? i would rather die, joan-of-arc-style, in a blaze of glory, spread-eagled and bare-assed, rather than prolong the abasement any longer.

plus, if i DO get up, the entire, continent-sized span of my white, latina ass will be on full display in front of god and everyone.

dr. j immediately sees the, erm, problem and hands me ANOTHER gown to put on, in reverse.

YES, TWO GOWNS . . . one MASSIVE ass.

wunderbar.

so aaaaaaanyway, if cancer weren't so scary, then i might be willing go toe-to-toe with it just to avoid another medical mishap . . .

8 comments:

Kal said...

You should have went to the voodoo priestess to have you va ja ja blessed before you went into see the doctor. I am acutely aware of all the symptoms that will require him to bring out the dreaded rubber glove. Then I sue him for non-consensual penetration. They are all perverts anyways. You would think after years of looking at the plumbing that they would be sick of it but that is never the case. They just want to take poloroids of more and more for their collection. Thankfully my figure is in the LARGE folder if you catch the drift I am sending your way.

I find at times when the exam table is blowing up that you can either be timid or bold. You should have wrapped that other paper gown around you and stepped into the hallway with a diva-like boldness that would have made them all think that you were entertaining the troops 'THERE'S NO BUSINESS LIKE SHOW BUSINESS'. Then you give them a flip as you enter the next room. Of course those things come to your mind 24 hours AFTER the even but next time text me first. I will guide you through it. So, everything okay, down there. We can send in the steam shovel and no problems - good

wv - barstor and yes I feel like one right now.

Jaya J said...

oh boy, sorry to read abt the mishap but it's funny too! nether region check-ups are no joke, i've always dreaded them. stessful thing.

Holly Vance said...

I am actually looking forward to mine (someone's gotta get up in there).

I'm sorry, TMI?

Kari Marie said...

I'm still laughing about "The heart of darkness" comment. OMG. I hate those appointments. HATE THEM.

Hogdayafternoon said...

OOOO Lana, you made me wince, and I've only got male equipment - made my vasectomy seem like a mere snip. As for gyno's, there's something you have to admire about someone who can wallpaper their hallway via their letterbox, but I'd be a little embarrassed at Med school to admit that it would be my chosen speciality.

Missed Periods said...

Part of me is terrified of the gyno who couldn't understand why single girls need birth control, but the other part of me just wants to pinch his naive little cheeks.

J.L. Campbell said...

I didn't mean to laugh, really I didn't. I feel your pain though, from the hovering incident and then breaking the equipment. Hope you got the job done with at least a shred of your dignity intact - though I doubt that.

powdergirl said...

"The Heart of Darkness" ???

Phhht. "Center of the Fucking Universe" is more like it.

You need to stop dating dumb-asses, Darlin' : )