I wrote this biiiig post the other day. The time came to press PUBLISH POST, and the strangest thing happened.
I could not...for the life of me...carry that post to the publishers.
It was MUCH too H.E.A.V.Y!!!
So. Until I find some of David's mighty men to help me lift this heavy post, I will bring you something that I found I could carry myself...something much MUCH lighter.
I'm going to use 5 simple letters to open a box in your mind, full of sights and sounds and emotions and fears and possibly joys...yah, not sure about that last one....
Today, I get to add some more memories to MY box. For today, I visit the
O.B.G.Y.N
Lord have mercy. Immediately I am plagued by the terror of the metal duck clamp. The one that was "thoughtfully" warmed up under water before use. The one that was "thoughtfully" under TOO warm of water...more like SCALDING water before use, and of course the testing ground to see if the temperature was acceptable...well, let's just say it was not my wrist.
I have changed OBGYN's about 6 times until I found one with whom I did not feel the need to smack upside the head, and say LOOK INTO MY EYES. Yes, I realize, that by profession, the eyes are not the focal point at any of these appointments. I have to wonder though... If you are of the male persuasion and in med school...what oh WHAT possesses you to want to specialize in gynecology? We are taught to treat it like it's professional..but in my VERY humble, but always right, opinion...it's just weird to pretend to be all professional when your job entails looking up 30+ skirts a day. I don't want no dude looking at my girlie bits! *ahem* (Well maybe one...but THAT'S the limit!) That's why I have found a woman, who actually is only 2 years older than me. So after she roots around for an hour in 'the cellar', we can just go out for a drink and forget all about it.
No. I'm joking. Cause that's weird.
I don't think I will ever...EVER...feel comfortable wearing a recycled paper drape and sticking my legs in the stirrups in front of ANYone. And this is coming from someone who has been in plenty a delivery room with plenty a medical staff hovering around the regions, with absolutely NO modesty allowed beyond the L&D front doors. You'd think after all of the medical staff in this city have seen my certain things, that said certain things become, well, like a knee, or an elbow. Nope. I still get nervous. I still feel like a school child. I still wonder,
"Do they all really look the same?"
"What's she thinking about me?"
"Why didn't I shave my mammoth legs?"
"Does the A.C seriously HAVE to be cranked to the point of shivering in here?"
"I hate the metal duck. I hate the metal duck. I hate the metal duck."
I am already freaking out inside about stepping into that office today. I already know I will make too many humor attempts. I already know that I will laugh too loud one too many times. I alreday know I will prolong the talking part as long as humanly possible. I just don't know...how hot that metal duck is going to be. And THAT scares the living daylights outta me.
