Gyno Day
I woke up at 6 a.m. this morning with a sense of dread. Ugh. Gyno day. I've spent a good chunk of the last year in doctor's offices, but HANDS DOWN, the one I dislike going to the most is my gyno check.
It should be my easiest one. I've had so many things go wrong with this container of mine, but have been lucky...so far.....with my, um...lady parts. My gynecological oncologist is not only one of the best in my city, but I actually like her as a person.
I worry about farting. Or...as we call it in my family: proting. As a rule, I am not a particularly gassy woman. I have no idea why just the idea of this horrifies me so much. I also worry about pooping my pants. Granted, when I was in treatment, this may have been a legitimate worry. I was nearly constantly nauseated and occasionally, I would get stomach cramps that were almost crippling. When this happened, I knew that I had exactly 20 seconds to find a bathroom or, yes...I would poop my pants. This happened to me twice. Once, in the parking garage on my first day of chemo and again when I had been in treatment for several months but had difficulty getting my IV unplugged from the wall and ended up making it to within one foot of the bathroom door. Both times are etched into my mind like stone and I flinch every time I think of them so I try VERY hard not to think of those times.
Now, I am in remission and no longer have stomach cramps or poop my pants. Yet, I WORRY.
And this is crazy, but even though I am an older woman, I worry that I might not smell nice. I am a very clean person. This should not be a worry. I don't recall ANY of the men whom I have ever been with worrying that their dicks might stink. But, we women...we worry about the most stupid things.
I get a massage every month and am completely naked and I never worry about this stuff. But, as soon as I have to see my gynecologist, I am a nervous wreck.
It was fine. It always is. Dr. Judith does what she always does. She chats with me, while at the same time, sliding various apparatuses inside of me along with her fingers. We discuss her son's love of choir, her daughter's excitement for school to start again. In between chatting, she remarks to me that my cervix is just fine, in fact, very healthy looking and easy to find. Do I have any questions? I seem just a little bit dry, would I like a prescription to help with that? I shake my head no. We go on talking about how fast the Summer has gone but won't it be nice to be done with this heat?
It is all over in ten minutes. She tells me that instead of coming in every six months, that she thinks that it will be okay if I only come in yearly now. I am ridiculously pleased, as if I have passed a test.
Well. I sort of HAVE passed a test. No proting. No pooping of pants. All clear.
Until next August when I will worry about this all over again.
It should be my easiest one. I've had so many things go wrong with this container of mine, but have been lucky...so far.....with my, um...lady parts. My gynecological oncologist is not only one of the best in my city, but I actually like her as a person.
I worry about farting. Or...as we call it in my family: proting. As a rule, I am not a particularly gassy woman. I have no idea why just the idea of this horrifies me so much. I also worry about pooping my pants. Granted, when I was in treatment, this may have been a legitimate worry. I was nearly constantly nauseated and occasionally, I would get stomach cramps that were almost crippling. When this happened, I knew that I had exactly 20 seconds to find a bathroom or, yes...I would poop my pants. This happened to me twice. Once, in the parking garage on my first day of chemo and again when I had been in treatment for several months but had difficulty getting my IV unplugged from the wall and ended up making it to within one foot of the bathroom door. Both times are etched into my mind like stone and I flinch every time I think of them so I try VERY hard not to think of those times.
Now, I am in remission and no longer have stomach cramps or poop my pants. Yet, I WORRY.
And this is crazy, but even though I am an older woman, I worry that I might not smell nice. I am a very clean person. This should not be a worry. I don't recall ANY of the men whom I have ever been with worrying that their dicks might stink. But, we women...we worry about the most stupid things.
I get a massage every month and am completely naked and I never worry about this stuff. But, as soon as I have to see my gynecologist, I am a nervous wreck.
It was fine. It always is. Dr. Judith does what she always does. She chats with me, while at the same time, sliding various apparatuses inside of me along with her fingers. We discuss her son's love of choir, her daughter's excitement for school to start again. In between chatting, she remarks to me that my cervix is just fine, in fact, very healthy looking and easy to find. Do I have any questions? I seem just a little bit dry, would I like a prescription to help with that? I shake my head no. We go on talking about how fast the Summer has gone but won't it be nice to be done with this heat?
It is all over in ten minutes. She tells me that instead of coming in every six months, that she thinks that it will be okay if I only come in yearly now. I am ridiculously pleased, as if I have passed a test.
Well. I sort of HAVE passed a test. No proting. No pooping of pants. All clear.
Until next August when I will worry about this all over again.
Comments
Post a Comment