I can feel it already. Tomorrow is going to be one of those days. It’s the annual event all women dread, we put it off and yet we know we simply must do it. It’s the annual physical. (uh note to the men folk who read my blog, you might want to just move along now, this post is not for you)
Tomorrow morning I will shower as if I am getting ready for a date where I know I’m going to get some uhhhh attention? I will shave, lather and be sure I am extra super squeaky clean. Why? Not because I am looking forward to some “come hither” time with someone I love, but because I have a date with the cold hard invasive claw that is known as the speculum. Frankly, this kind of date sucks!
It’s not just the little blue sheet, the humiliating weigh in, the making small talk with a kindly Doctor as she examines your privates, the boob check…it’s the dread that builds up to this day!
It’s trying to figure out which socks weigh the very least (every ounce counts on those scales). Which underwear and bra are “Doctor” appropriate, and for this self confessed hypochondriac it’s talking myself off the preverbal ledge. What if she finds something? What if these constant headaches are more then just headaches? What if the gnawing ache in my stomach is more then the “simple” ulcer I have decided it is and my well meaning Doctor scares the crap out of me with a litany of tests. Oh she does like to order tests.
Sigh. Stupid to worry, worse to complain about having access to health care.
Perhaps tomorrow I will get lucky. Maybe Specky the Speculum will be warmed up and waiting for me under a heat lamp, maybe it will be quick and painless, maybe I will weigh less then I think I do, maybe she will prescribe an anti-biotic for my “oh so simple to diagnose stomach ache” and all this worrying will be for naught. Maybe.
A girl can dream right. Sometimes being a women is so much more complicated then it seems.