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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
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