Thursday, April 10, 2008

All Up

My doctor, who is not Renée Zellweger, but could certainly play her on TV, is much nicer than my old doctor, the Goob. The Goob sucked.

I liked the Goob less than the doctor who applied liquid nitrogen to my cervix, not once, which was required, but twice, because he missed a bit of the infection the first time.

You just think about those two things together for a few moments: cervix, liquid nitrogen, cervix, liquid nitrogen.

Yeah, like a motherfucker. But thank you for asking.

But he was a nice man, and I can see how it might be easy to miss a spot when you're burning someone's cervix. It's a pretty cramped space, and better to miss a spot than throwing that shit around in there.

So while the Goob never burned my cervix twice, she was just not nice and her bedside manner made her an incompetent doctor. She put the fear of physicals into me, I'll tell you that. So I've left this one a little long - almost a year and a half after my last physical, just over a year since my last pap. I've never gone for longer than a year between physicals. My mother pounded into my head that that's what you do as soon as you become sexually active.

Though for years I had no idea why, just that you had to. I never even thought about why, it was just like breathing, or like using my right foot to take the first step. What one does.

But it's only been a year since my last pap, and considering that it was fine, but the one before that was not fine, really, it's a bit remiss.

The other thing about the Goob, and about all the doctors I've had before her in all my time of having paps and bimanual exams, the Goob was not attractive. I mean, she wasn't unattractive. She was a nice lookin' lady, to someone, I'm sure.

My doctor now is nice and I like her. She's sympathetic, she seems to know what she's talking about and she has diagnosed me properly and reasonably a few times now. She's also attractive. Pseudo-movie star attractive. Not that I'm attracted to her, since pseudo-movie stars are not my type, insofar as I have a type where the ladies are concerned. But when she said "This'll be a little cold." and pushed her fingers up my cunt, well. I couldn't look at her, and it was the closest to feeling fucked I've ever had on the Table.

I'm not sure she's entirely comfortable with other women's bodies. Or: maybe she's not comfortable with her own body either? maybe she stares at the ceiling when she gives herself a breast exam? maybe she pays more attention to what she's feeling if she stares fixedly at the wall? I don't know.

What I do know, however, is that my weight is up by 10 lbs. And that's good, though of course, I'm having ridiculous internal dialogues about it. My resting heart rate is also up, to 60 bpm. Which is also good, but not as good as the 44 I registered back in the fall. Of course, this time I had just popped off the exam table rather than blearily lifting a wrist after several hours of lying completely still in a giant whirring machine.

There's resting, and there's resting.

1 comment:

Milan ( said...

This may interest you:

Helen Fisher: The science of love, and the future of women