Saturday, February 09, 2008

The W(h)ine Press

Even though I have the best intentions of not living up to the expectations that I will turn into a raging hormone once a month or so, sometimes it's just necessary. Yesterday was a good reason because that little "friend" was the cause for some angst.

Since I'm in my early 30s, I figure it's good policy to try to take care of my health. Plus, I'd just feel guilty if I didn't with everything that Matt has done to get himself healthy over the past 9 months. Add to that the fact that we actually have reasonably priced health insurance, and I'm left with no excuse. So last month, I scheduled my annual physical which was to happen yesterday.

I don't know any woman who actually enjoys this physical. You have to completely disrobe and put on something the size of a pillow case to give your doctor better access to feeling you up. Okay, I exaggerate. There's no "Hand That Rocks The Cradle" crap that happens, but that scene scarred me enough that I didn't watch the rest of the movie. Anyway, I can think of much more pleasant sensations than the feeling of a plastic contraption being stuck in you and cranked open so that a long Q-tip can be stuck in and scrapped about. Then the doctor does the the manual poke and prod to make sure everything is where it's supposed to be. At least, I think that's what she's doing.

If you think there's some mental steeling that happens before an appointment like this, you'd be right. I was ready. I had gone over all the new family ailments to inform my doctor about so she could track whether I was going down similar paths. I was prepared. I also was worried. The week leading up to my appointment, I had all the classic Julia PMS symptoms. I thought, "I'm never on time. This will hold off. I can make it to Friday!"

Alas. Friday morning, my body decided to have a laugh. I should have called my doctor's office at that point, but I assumed they would just do the other bits of my physical like looking at my uvula and trying to determine if my eye sight was still 20/20. I dutifully trudged to the office, signed in, and sat down to wait for them to call my name. I waited. Watched a stream of hacking, feverish, snot-ridden humanity pass by and into the examination rooms. 15 minutes passed. 20 minutes. Finally, after 35 minutes, the physician's assistant called me back.

It started well. I weighed in about ten pounds less than the previous year. My blood pressure was 114/62. There were no concerned looks when the PA listened to my heart, until she put down her stethoscope and asked, "And the first day of your last period was?" I looked at her and sighed, "Today."

"Oh no. We can't do the pap then! Oh no!" She frowned sympathetically. "You're the second one this has happened to today. We have to reschedule you."

I sighed again, pulled my boots back on, and followed her out to see the lady with the schedule.

Saint Patrick's Day is the new appointment.

Now playing: Frank Sinatra - I've Got You Under My Skin

1 comment:

Steve said...

Hi Julia,

Bad luck on having to go through getting all psyched up for the ordeal of the physical exam, and then having it postponed. I am procrastinating over my annual check up because I fear the bit when I have to drop my shorts, and we guys do get things a whole lot easier than you ladies, at least when we are in our thirties. Maybe I should make a point of trying to get mine before March 17!

Post a Comment

Away, Away

We're on a mini-vaca in an area where they're experiencing forest fires (thanks asshole arsonist). It's an area that makes Clift...