latest  archives  guestbook  about me links 

 email

03.21.2002 - 2:21 p.m.

Thursday
You know, it seems like a person should not, in the space of two days, have to go to the DMV AND have a Q-tip 34 inches long wedged into their uterus. But that's just the way things have been going.

I told you guys a couple weeks ago about having my coochie platypus appointment rescheduled. Well, I had to pay the piper this morning. And by "pay the piper" I mean "have a total stranger root inside my body like they lost a contact lens up there".

Doctor's offices are just like the DMV, because all of their cliches are always true, too. You arrive on time or early. And wait. Oh, in case you get bored, you've got page-turners like Golf Digest and Parenting Today to leaf through. You finally are ushered inside, and weighed. You always will weigh more at the doctor's than anywhere else. Apparently you have grown denser, perhaps from increased gravity pumped into the waiting room.

Feeling grouchy and lumpen, you are shown to a small room, where you are told to undress and put on a shorty nightgown that covers .000003% of your body. You struggle to arrange the fabric over yourself so as to retain a semblance of dignity, but it is useless. You then enter a purgatory-like state, where the loudest noise is the ticking of the clock and the occasional snigger from the nurses outside who have read your weight. You read, in desperation, a pamphlet on high blood pressure. It is very boring. Months pass. Eventually, the doctor whisks in.

Introductions are made. File-perusing follows, with occasional queries, all of which you shake your head 'no' to. You sense the doctor finds you and your medical history very boring indeed. A freezing cold stethoscope is pressed against you and you are told to take deep breaths, which you try very hard to do correctly and promptly.

The foreplay is over. You knew this was coming, but you are filled with dread as the doctor pulls out the stirrups, which had previously been hiding demurely beneath the chair. Scooch all the way down, you are asked, and you try, but you're all freaked out so you move maybe half an inch. Your knees also refuse to budge, and so the doctor has to jimmy them apart, which fills you with shame, although the way she does it is actually a pretty effective tire-jacking type arm maneuver so you figure she's had to do this before.

You stare, very hard, at the ceiling. An extremely delicate part of your body is suddenly rudely visited upon by a insistent device that cranks you open as if a team of NASCAR mechanics are going to rush in and give you a quick tune up. There is a Q-tip. And something that resembles a mascara wand. You can feel all of your internal organs retreating in embarrassment, hiding behind your spine. Your toes do really, really weird clenching-and-spreading motions. No, nothing is pleasant, but thankfully it's brief and you are left to clutch your little nightgown around you and struggle back into your clothes. Which no longer fit because of your new density.

Well, at least she was nice. She was actually an LPN rather than an MD, which maybe was why she didn't act like she had a really important golf game she was missing. And she confirmed something I had suspected - I have ROSACEA.

No, wait! Come back here! It's not, like, contagious or anything. I'm not a LEPER, damn it. It's just this skin condition that means my face gets red really easily and has little red blotches that have to be concealed with L'oreal Translucide Naturally Luminous Makeup. It explains why I blush like a maniac over literally anything at all, and why sometimes when I drink wine I can actually be seen from space. So she prescribed some sort of cream, and we'll see how that does. You're also supposed to avoid spicy foods, caffeine, exercising, alcohol, hot showers, and the sun, but fuck the hell out of THAT noise.

Oh, and something I found online: "Avoid stressful situations. Anger, embarrassment and fright may all result in flushing and trigger Rosacea symptoms."

I think that's funny. Doesn't it sound serious, like I could turn into the Hulk or something? "Get back! Or I might flush! Which will trigger something!" And super great advice on avoiding those 'situations'.

I mean, normally I actively seek them out, but now that I know they could cause flushing

go back ::: forward

03.20.2002 - When the hell would I need to back up like this anyway? Like if a fucking rhino was charging my car?
03.19.2002 - The only way I could have injured a potential attacker is if they got hernias from laughing at me.
03.18.2002 - The yard, the creek! The pretty stained pine on the inside!

0 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland