Anyone who knows me knows I am not a morning person. I believe it is something you are born with. Like blue eyes or black hair. You either are a rise and shiner or a don't even look or speak to me until noon person. I am the latter. So you can really appreciated my dedication to my employers when I agreed to open the office at 6:30am. Honestly, that time of day should be sacred. Outlawed. At 6:30am everyone should still be snuggled in their beds, nuzzling their heads onto fluffy pillows with visions of Ian Somerhalder dancing naked in their dreams.
But I agreed. And even if I am not a morning person, I am a good employee and am dedicated to my job. So I dragged myself from the depths of a blissful sleep (and with the prodding of my super annoying husband) down the steps and into the shower. But since I did milk laying in bed as long as I could, I of course was running behind. So I skipped shaving. I mean from the bottom of the dual staircases right up to the landing, ya know what I mean? No biggie, right? I mean it's just a little stubble. Do it tomorrow. Eh, throw on your very worst pair of underwear just because that is what your hand lands on first. Don't worry about doing your hair. Contacts? Forget about it...just wear glasses today. I mean when a co-worker who is used to seeing me at around 2:30 in the afternoon came into the office at 6:30 am all he could utter was, "Wow." Yeah. It was bad.
As I inhaled the liquid energy in the form of a delicious latte, clarity began to slowly set in right around the same time I opened up the day's calendar. And saw those words. Erica- Appt 1:30. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. OMG (oh my gyn)! My appointment with my gynecologist. I loathe doctor appointments. I mean, like temper tantrum and pouting about going to them. There is nothing I enjoy about doctor appointments. Especially since I swear each appointment just spider webs into 20 additional labs or procedures they need to do. So I am really, really, REALLY bad about regularly seeing a doctor or following thru on recommendations. It only took me like 18 months to actually make this appointment. And I only considered cancelling like 73 times. So I am making progress on putting my health as a priority. Baby steps.
Now anyone who enjoys my blogs I am sure has read my take on the Pap Smear, or as I prefer to call it Pap Fear. No? Well then click here and enjoy learning more about my thoughts on menstruation and the Jaws of Strife. This time though my doctor was a man. I arrive to the office to the appointment, bladder full. I mean I am holding back the floodgates of urine. A little girl is playing with the water cooler, running the water so it is splashing everywhere. I want to tie her hands together as I will my bladder to stay strong. She is only strengthening the case to discuss a tubal ligation. They call me back, I talk to the doctor about my concerns. As I overshare details I can see the shadow of regret in his profession of choice cast over in his eyes. We discuss options and then he tells me that he is going to do a Pap Smear. Sigh, I guess get it over with. So he leaves so I can get undressed. Except I realize that there is no way that I can hold back the urine that he apparently did not need for a specimen. So I held it for nothing. I scoot across the hall, do my business and come back to get undressed. I get up on the table, undressed from pants down with that awkward thin white sheet draped across my lap. Looking down I realize that the "stubble" I assumed was on my legs has somehow manifested into something that would compete with Big Foot's hair. Holy hell. Lotion. I have lotion in my purse. I jump off the table, petrified that he will open the door and catch me bent over in my purse digging for lotion. Find the lotion and rub it on. Suddenly the scent hits my nose and I realize that he may think I have "freshened up" for his benefit. And dammit, the lotion actually makes the hair darker and more noticeable. I toss the lotion bottle back to my purse, spilling the purse and its contents everywhere, exposing the worst pair of underwear I own. So I can't just leave it. I jump up, bent over, heart pounding, clutching the thin white sheet in a poor attempt to hide the lady bits as I try to throw everything back in my purse. Keep in mind, I have already wasted precious minutes relieving myself in the bathroom, I mean it is down to seconds away from the doctor walking down the hall and witnessing my full moon. Not sure why I care because he has front row tickets to the vag show, but I care.
Luckily just as he opens the door to the room I am hopping back on the table. He gives me an odd look and is probably thinking I was rummaging through drawers looking for needles. Or maybe he is confused by the sudden overwhelming scent of Passionberry Vanilla lotion that fills the room. I swear it was an attempt to cover up the lack of a razor and not the presence of any scents.
I'm on the table, laying back, feet in stirrups, naked from the waist down. The doctor and nurse make small talk while my vajayjay is on full display. I feel like the room is shrinking and my love canal is expanding. How can they discuss lunch with my labia waving at them? I try to concentrate on the clever light covers on the ceiling that are meant to give all the victims of the stirrups something to look at. I try to imagine that I am laying on the beach but I have never been on the beach while the walls of my woman cave were being excavated with the Jaws of Strife. I try to make it a point to not have my muffin factory open for public viewings. So nice attempt but the clouds are not relaxing me at all. And what do you do with your hands mid pap smear? Tuck them behind your head and look like you are kicked back relaxing?
After the doctor finished, he stuck his hand out to shake my hand. Really? We are going to pretend like he just sold me a car and wasn't just touching my cervix? Even when I walked out to the check out desk I had to check three times to be sure I had pants on because I still felt so naked!
As I stood in line to pay my co-pay (yes I pay to be humiliated and violated) I start thinking that I know that I dream about my work. I wonder if that doctor wakes up in a cold sweat, fresh from a nightmare that a bearded clam is trying to swallow him whole...
