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Monday, April 11, 2005

i've gotta go see a man about a uterus
Right from the beginning, I will say that this post definitely belongs in the category of things I should never, ever write about, but since Caryn gave me such a great title, I feel obliged to share. Sort of. I mean, I just really wanted to use the title. I don't actually want to write about my uterus. But I will, because damn, nephew. That's a really great title.

Okay, so to speak of this delicately, I will say that a week ago, my body led me to believe that something was horrifically wrong with it, because my period was being weird. And because I don't even want to know when something's horrifically wrong with my body, I waited five days to talk to the doctor, but I finally went ahead and got an appointment. My appointment was this afternoon, so I had the entire weekend to freak out about what the problem could be. Last night, I had a dream that I had a tumor. (I also dreamt about eating rubber bands, but that's a different story, and now is not the time for the digressing.) The tumor dream was frighteningly real, and when I woke up this morning, I had a hard time differentiating the dream from reality, and spent most of my morning feeling doomed to death. I also have an incredibly negative overactive imagination, which isn't really a good thing to have when you dream about having tumors on your uterus.

With all this talk about tumors, I just wanted to be absolutely clear about the fact that I don't have any growths or anything. Okay.

Right. So, I went to the doctor this afternoon, because it was time for me to get a pap smear anyway. He told me that I'm fine and the problem was most likely due to stress about recent life changes (getting accustomed to a new job, etc.) and that I had absolutely nothing whatsoever to worry about. This is a good thing, so I don't know why it's always a slight letdown to find out, after I've spent all this time getting worked up about it, that not only am I not going to die, but that there wasn't even anything to get worked up about in the first place. Wait, I do know why. I'm a neurotic freak.

And now that we've gotten the question of my uterine health out of the way, I feel completely free to go off on all of the other things about going to the gynecologist that are just begging to be written about. Cue the numbered list:

1. Earlier today, when I was telling Caryn that I thought I had a tumor and she was telling me that I didn't have a tumor, and I said something akin to "Is there any doctor that's more uncomfortable to visit than the gynecologist?" and she said "The dentist." I told her that I didn't mind the dentist so much, and she said, and I quote, "I'd rather have 1,000 pap smears." I would like to state, for the record, that I still prefer the dentist.

2. You know what seems like it's funny to say but then isn't funny at all once you've said it? I'll tell you. "Not unless I'm next in line for an immaculate conception." Because unlike times when you say something that's actually funny, you just get a moment of uncomfortable chuckling and throat-clearing. Just trust me on this.

3. Here's something that I've always wondered. Okay, during the pelvic exam, how inappropriate would it be to laugh and laugh and laugh? Because I always want to, seeing that it's really an entirely ridiculous situation, but I always think that if I start cracking up when the doctor breaks out the speculum, it must mean that I'm insane. Another thing I've always wondered is, if you run into your gynecologist at the grocery store or something, would that be more or less awkward than running into an ex?

4. I guess it stands to reason that they'd use industrial-strength lubricant, since it's the industry, and all, but good lord.

5. I really think they need better stuff on the ceiling to look at, because, you know, if you're giving someone an unobstructed view of your cervix, then the least they could do is put something better than a picture of a mountain stream on the ceiling for you to direct your attention to. I don't really have any suggestions about what might make interesting ceiling viewing material, but I think maybe Justin Timberlake. Because he kind of looks like a rat, and this fascinates me.





posted by jamelah
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