If you know me at all, you know my absolute PANIC when it comes to visiting a Dr. It takes MAJOR effort to go in for those regular check ups. You know the ones, where you are in a very compromising, embarrassing position where you hope to god that you are "daisy fresh" and do not have the after effects of having eaten some gaseous producing foods. But I have kept up with them, more or less.
Or those equally nasty visits where your "Girls" are stretched, pulled and flattened to some unnatural position to be irradiated by a monstrous looking machine where you have to contort into weird positions to get it "right" or do it all over again.
These visits, while helpful are not pleasant when you go through the process with the best of hopes that all is well, not having anything to worry about.
But when you do have something to worry about as I do, it is all the worse. For me, my panic and fear that I have under "normal" circumstances became something for which I have no words for.
So, I went in to see the Dr for my "routine" womanly check-up waiting for the question: "Is anything bothering you?"
For the first time, I had to answer "Yes".
Sparing you the nasty details, my answer caused the need for a biopsy "down there". Not nice. Not comfortable, and now hours later I am still smarting a bit where a needle or something went where it had no right to go.
Then they decided that my blood pressure was high. Well NO SHIT. My panic and fear in visiting a doctor is beyond what the normal person experiences for reasons that my inner child can only explain (again I won't bore you with the details, you only need to know I have my reasons...). So it was no surprise to me. So, off they marched me to another Dr, then to the pharmacy for my package of pills. All the while I am waiting at the Kaiser pharmacy only to see an old gentleman go off into convulsions and be carted away. See? This place is not a good place (says my inner child) people get sick here. and they might need to be carted away... My adult mind argued with the inner child...."but this is also where they make sick people well...."
My adult mind argued feebly with my inner child.
|The Boob Squeezer , instrument of torture|
from the Middle Ages awaits me
As if my 3 hours thus far was not enough, I was escorted to the room with the big nasty breast squeezer. The technician was lovely. Not like the last time when the technician was probably a man in drag. She was really nice, and although she tried to make it a pleasant experience, it still was not.
Finally, I got to leave. Still alive. Smarting a bit from the first doctor, and worried about what the results of the biopsy might reveal....
I think I will find comfort by burying myself in something pleasant.