I went to the doctor on Saturday for a full physical. One’s supposed to go for a lady-bits and what-nots check up every year after you’re thirty, but I haven’t been since I was twenty-five. Lady-bits need watching - they can be the death of one - so that was pretty stupid of me.
Mom thought that since she wasn’t using hers any more, she needn’t go for checkups, and all the ills that carried her off started as ovarian cancer. So I gritted my teeth and girded my loins (even though I knew I’d have to ungird them for the examination) and subjected myself to voluntary molestation.
The nurse did all the preparatory form filling in, blood pressure, height, weight, urine test and etcetera. I was feeling pretty uncomfortable about coming in for that check-up, but one comforts oneself with the idea that to medical staff, its nothing peculiar and all perfectly routine.
It was therefore rather alarming to find the nurse talking in hushed tones: ‘When was your last menstruation?’ and so on. She probably did so to spare me embarrassment, but it had the opposite effect since I’d decided that there was nothing to be shy about, and now it seemed, there was.
So I made a point of saying ‘Pap smear’ and ‘Menstruation’ in a perfectly normal tone of voice, just to put her at ease. Thence to the examination room where I did the full Monty with merry abandon and awaited my fate.
Anyway, the doctor gave me a thorough working over – I’ll spare you the details - and I left the money on the pillow (kidding, I’ll put it in his bank of course).
I don’t have any pictures of this event, and if I did, they'd be worth money, so instead you get a picture of a kid (not mine).