Some days I think I should change the name of this blog to “Conversations with Medical Staff,” since all I seem to do these days is go from one doctor’s appointment to another. Yesterday, in fact, I did just that: I was seen for my leg in the morning, and then in the afternoon, I had my annual lady part check up.
That’s right, guys, I went to the gyno. You can stop reading here if you like.
Anyway. I have to admit that I felt a little funny in a way I never remember feeling. Like, YES, the gynecologist is not a place you do a happy dance in; it’s generally uncomfortable and pretty intrusive, like a visit to an aunt who’s lost her marbles.
But I feel like, in the past year, the medical questions have changed. Now it’s not, “How are you feeling? Any problems? Have you kept your whoring under control?” You get up on the table, they swipe you like a credit card and you’re done. You go home and drink wine.
But yesterday, I was met with: “So what’s your normal height and weight?”
And I found this question seriously odd. As if I could choose a number to be “normal.” I almost responded, “Short. Fat,” but kept that to myself. I wanted to say, “Well, normally, I’m 115, but these past 35 pounds… one day I woke up and they were there!”
That’s right. I’m 150 pounds. Mother. Bitches.
I knew this because I found out at my earlier appointment. No exercise and all junk food makes Amanda expand. The nurse at the leg appointment said, “Oh, well. It’s winter. We’re all bound to gain a little weight.”
Yes, if we are bears or squirrels who hibernate for the winter, we are bound to gain 35 pounds. I agree.
The nurse at the latter appointment offered, “Well, you add 10lbs for the boots you’re wearing.”
This fall, in fashion: 10 POUND BOOTS!
And then she said, “Are you sexually active?”
And yes, they ALWAYS ask this question, but it’s always been so strange to me. If you say yes, they ask you how many partners you’ve been with, but secretly they think you’re a whore. If you say no, they check off the box but secretly think you’re a whore who’s lying. It’s rather unfair, if you think about it.
I said I wasn’t. But something about that fact made me want to scream, “I AM SLEEPING WITH EVERYONE IN THE WORLD.”
She said, “Have you had any STD’s?”
I said I didn’t.
She said, “Are you now or do you think you might be pregnant?”
I said, “No,” but what I wanted to say (even though she was very nice) was, “Bitch unless miraculous conception is making a comeback except it’s now new and improved with a side of herpes, I am not pregnant.”
She said, “YOU HAVE THE BEST MEDICAL HISTORY EVER!”
… yes. She really said that.
This is what I get for not being all about random hookups? The equivalent of a gold star from a gynecologist?
With my disease-free, sexually inactive, barren womb I shall carry on. And look to a time in the future where my normal weight can come out of hiding.
Have a good night, everyone.
(And ladies, check yo’self.)