It’s no secret that I don’t like the annual pap smear. God, could it be called anything worse? Smear? Honestly. Also, “don’t like” is putting it mildly. I don’t like stubbing my toes on the bedpost. I don’t like brussels sprouts. I don’t like that there’s an s on brussels. The visit to the gynecologist each year ranks right up there with falling into an open pothole while crossing the street, having your leg devoured by ravenous crocodiles, and getting on the wrong side of Jimmy “Kneecaps” Malloy.
I like my doctor well enough although Debra and I agree that she’s on a mission to coax everyone down to a willowy 150 pounds. She’s thorough. I assume she sees many women who don’t regularly see their primary physician and so she covers the range of issues from blood pressure to medications to life changes and anything else that might merit attention. She’s diligent about checking to see if I’m still seeing the same host of doctors and asks about everything shy of my last haircut. Bless her heart, she manages to do all of this while handing me tissue after tissue.
You’d think (or at least I’d think) that I’d be past throwing my legs open to any old person happening by. After all, for the last five months everyone but the NSA has peered in there. That I know of. I’ve learned the sound of each doctor’s preferred speculum for pete’s sake. And yet, as she propped me open and stabbed my cervix with a shiv made out of a toothbrush, I still found tears pooling in my ears.
As I do with the blood pressure (you all, it skyrockets anytime a doctor enters my vicinity), I assured her that it isn’t personal. But the thing is, I don’t do this with everyone anymore. Sure, the blood pressure thing* is never ending – I’m stressed about them lecturing me, that raises my blood pressure, they lecture me more, and repeat – but sobbing in the doctor’s office has all but stopped. I don’t know why today was different or why the IUIs didn’t desensitize me. It sucks though. Man, it sucks.
Since I sounded fairly sane in last year’s post, I’m going to remind myself that I’m just sensitive right now (go ahead, ask me about passing the prenatal clinic on my way to the visit, oh wait…don’t.) When it comes down to it, I’m just really tired of taking off my clothes so that someone can poke at my body. More fun awaits however, visits to the dermatologist and a mammogram are coming. Hopefully I’ll go into the new year having the least amount of cancer ever.
I can tell you’re worried and that you might mention that I have white coat syndrome (check) and recommend anxiety medication (check), taking it at home (check), and keeping a record to cut them off at the pass (check). I’m on it!