Speculum Speculations

Absolute truths realized during one's yearly "please put your feet in the stirrups" appointment:

• An afternoon without kids is still a wondrous thing even if it involves a Pap smear.
• Vaginal sonograms really, truly suck. Like, seriously? What kind of twisted, messed-up individual came up with this?
  
• When the phlebotomist says It's not veins that roll, it's people who miss, you realize that she's not just another blood sucker, but a sage whose opinion on the performance of other phlebotomists in one's past is really a commentary on life in general. Go ahead, use it in any form: It's not (nouns) that (verb), it's people who miss. Profound.
  
• That seeing Dr. Nezhat once a year just isn't enough. Because he's not just my doctor, he's a friend and the man who made our children possible. So, NATUI, Dr. Nezhat has mandated that I accompany you to all your future appointments. Mr. NATUI is no longer allowed to come. In fact, I'm thinking we just need to schedule our appointments for the same day each year, because the friends who get vaginal sonograms together stay together.
• The possibility of surgery*, during which three very uncomfortable-sounding things will be done to my womanly bits, has me grinning and cringing. Grinning because of the week or so off from kids. Cringing because, um, ouch?
  

Thank goodness those appointments only come once a year. More than that? Willies.

*Said surgery isn't for something life-threatening. It's to keep me healthy and our family at five and no more.

One Hour Break

Is it sad that I look forward to a doctor appointment just so I can get a break from the kids? If you're wondering how:

• sitting in a waiting room staring at people you don't know and reading three-year-old issues of People magazine,
• lounging on an exam chair wearing a drafty hospital gown in a room the temperature of an ice box,
• talking about my mystery diagnosis and sharing itchy butt stories regarding other patients,
• carrying on a "normal" conversation while the dermatologist closely examines every. square. millimeter of your naked skin, or
  
• sitting calmly, trying not to punch the doctor, while she freezes a wart off my foot
  

can be considered a break from the kids, then allow me to tell you. While under the care of my dermatologist, not once did I hear, "MAMA! MAMA! MAMA! J-man slobbered kitty!" "NOOOOO! Don't touch me Miss-Miss!" "Waaaaaaaaa!" or any other combination of the previous.

Bliss. Complete and utter bliss.

Until the freezing of the wart. At that moment I realized true dermatologic discomfort. When I've previously had smaller warts or questionable spots (read: pre-cancerous ick) frozen, it was all of five seconds while I mentally thought, Oh, that's cold. Oh, that hurts! and it was over. This time around?

Forty-five seconds of the doc carrying on a normal conversation and every vein popping out on my forehead while I mentally chanted, OK, that's cold. Oh, that hurts! OWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW! Motherfucker! Ow! Ow! G-damn! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! over and over and over again until I calmly looked down at the top of her head, imagined the liquid evil getting kicked across the room, and said, "OK. That's enough. Thanks!" through clenched lips.

Yeah. For the next few days, please refer to me as the Coal Miner's Gimp Granddaughter.

Bloodletting

As part of my usual appointment with Dr. Miracle, I have to pay a visit to the vampires.

Fine. They're not vampires. Just phlebotomists trying to make a living, maybe working their way through nursing school.

To me, though, they are vampyres! (Pronounce that with a Van Helsing-sort-of-German B-movie-accent, if you please.)

So, I couldn't go Thursday, the day of my appointment because the joint closes at 5PM, the end of my appointment.

Friday dawned and I went at lunch. A no-no since I had just eaten lunch and my cholesterol and insulin results would be skewed.

So, post kid breakfasts and shower, I took off for the nearest Lab Corp this morning.

Here's what disturbs me about Lab Corp. There is literally one on every corner. They are as prolific as sex shops, gas stations, and Dunkin' Donuts. Seriously. So, my question is, are we depositing that much bodily fluid at our doctors' offices for testing that we require that many testing and collection labs? I mean, what do they do with all that stuff when they're finished testing? I would really like to know. I certainly hope there isn't a vampi.... phlebotomist in the back, flushing my blood down the john. Ish.

So, anyway, back to my story (sorry about the wandering... coffee hasn't soaked in yet). I'm sitting there, reading my Ghost Hunting book (Adam Heath, you rawk!) with a couple ahead of me in line (ooooo, like that's such a great place to be when you're at the vampire's house) and a little boy and mom in back. The little boy was having blood drawn. This is what was coming out of the back.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

He, obviously, didn't want to have blood drawn.

Come on, Jack, let the nice lady draw your blood. The sooner you let her do it, the sooner we can leave.

Yeah, right, like that argument is going to work on a 2-year-old. All he knows is that the vampire is coming at him with a long, sharp, needle and she's going to stick him with it.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

He.
Was.
Pissed.

So, nice vampire lady finally finishes her bloodletting and little pissed Jack and mom leave. Now, it's well-dressed dink time. (FYI - dink stands for dual-income, no kids). They too are having blood stolen.

Wife gets blood drawn while husband watches from hallway.

Husband gets blood drawn while wife watches from hallway.

Suddenly, wife and vampire are frantic. Corbett? Corbett? Corbett! Are you OK? Can you hear me? Corbett!?!?!

Obviously, Corbett has fainted dead away.

I am quietly reading my book, listening to the train-wreck unfold down the hall, hoping vampire and wife know CPR because I am just NOT in the mood to resuscitate anyone this morning.

After five minutes and some fruit juice, Corbett has regained consciousness, but not his dignity. I have a feeling the vampire took his man card along with his blood. Poor guy. Go eat your breakfast in shame.

So, now it's my turn. The vampire just looks at me in frustration because it's not even 9AM and she's already had a rough day. I just looked at her and said,

Honey, I had to go through fertility treatments, which meant five trips a month to the vampires at Northside Hospital and self-injections of hormones. Stick me, baby.

She smiled.

Damn, she had big fangs.