One of my least favorite machines called today. The one that reminds me of appointments with the gynecologist. I ignored the machine in March, then the real life person who called to schedule the April D & C. I was busy--Kev's colonoscopy, Kate's baby, there was enough bodily invasion to go around in our family so I rationalized that my July appointment would be soon enough to talk about it.
I feel better than I did last summer. Which is pretty much the same as being all better, right? I'm big on the 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' approach when it comes to my body. And, with the exception of the last year of rebellion, my uterus and I have had a pretty good working relationship for many years with minimal interference from outsiders.
People (yes, I mean me people, not people people. But it makes me feel better to globalize certain behaviors and this is my blog...) do totally stupid things in the doctor's office. Like carefully folding their underwear inside thier pile of clothes so they can sit naked beneath a scanty open backed gown with a flimsy paper sheet over their lap while they wait for the doctor. Who will then touch, poke, prod, scrape and visually inspect places never seen by the occupant of said body. But at least the underwear will be safely tucked out of sight. Wouldn't want anyone to see anything personal, would we?
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