I've made it to the office of the gynocologists, (I just let spell check take care of that one)
I hate it here. It's not the people, they are lovely. I think. I'm not much for talking to them. "So, what are you in for?"
Seems weird somehow.
I'm too worked-up about the impending pain and humiliation. Call me crazy.
Today though, today the receptionist is making me angry
She won't stop clicking her mouse.
That Maddening click of the mouse is making me twitch a little.
Are you filling out a fucking survey?
Can't you see I'm upset?
Type something or better yet take a personal call, just please Stop clicking that mouse.
Why did I sit so close to her desk when I knew I was at the height of my anxiety.
I'll Try and distract myself with a magazine.
The first thing I see is Oprah and her smug face smiling like no one has ever removed a section of her Goddamn uterus. Her uterus is probably made of solid fucking gold
God, I love Oprah. What is wrong with me? Why have I turned on Oprah?
Phil Collins on the radio now: 'take a look at me now' Dude can wail, though, but I still need him to stop it right now!
My feet are dirty.
Shit, she'll see that when they are in the soul-destroying stirrups.
I'll say I was gardening just before I came. How the hell did my feel get so dirty? Yes, gardening is a good excuse. That'll make me sound good.
Jesus, what if they stink?
I surreptitiously lean over to my crossed legs and smell my blackened Feet. Christ it looks like I walked through the fire to get here.
Metaphorically, maybe I did. How's that for melodrama?
Click, click, click with that demon mouse. I imagine ripping the mouse from her manicured hand and throwing it to the floor.
You won't like that, at all, will you...Margaret.
I'm guessing that's her name.
Feet smell okay, I think.
Fuck, I hate this. Is this a phobia? All these other women looking calm AF. Are they not about to have a speculum inserted into their vaginas? Do they not fear such a thing?
Am I wrong?
Moved into the office now. The second waiting room really because I know I'll be staring at these walls for awhile
I decide to check out the art.
My heart is beating. I'm sweating. I glimpse a diagram and take it in. I fucking hate this poster. It's a detailed drawing of the female reproductive system. Would a poster of Chris Hemsworth not be a tad more calming than the extreme close-up of the vagina and anus?
Christ, what the hell is on that tray in the corner of the room. I won't look.
The liquor store is across the street. If I make it through without tears I shall reward myself with a bottle of the good wine, like $20 stuff.
Is that really what an anus looks like up close? I can't stop staring up at that anus in the diagram. I finally get that balloon-knot reference . Ha!
It's so fucking bright in here. The light doesn't have a dimmer. Why is it so bright??
I suppose the doctors isn't looking forward to this either.
I wonder if they moved me into this room because I was making the other patients nervous with my shifty eyes and shaking legs.
I don't think the Ativan is working. I borrowed some from a co-worker just before I drove here.
I birthed two babies. I birthed to babies. I birthed two babies.
Madonna now. "Crazy for you". Doesn't seem appropriate. I think Ozzy or Metalica would be better. Something dark, something sinister.
God, I am so damn Dramatic.
Just picture yourself driving home. Yes, imagine that. In less than an hour this will be over and you'll be driving home. Or straight to the liquor store.
What do men have to do?
Will someone speculum their anus' at some point? God, I hope so.
It's only fair.
Someone's at the door
Fuck, I can't do this.
What if I left? I'm a grown ass woman. I do what I want, right? I could get in my car and drive to the grocery store and fill the next hour with gourmet chocolate and
Good wine instead of a uterine biopsy.
No, that's bad. Bad idea. Gotta be responsible.
The easy listening station is making me homocidal. Bryan Adams now and I despise it. Not that I normally have a problem with the fellow cannuck but his melodies are just not the soundtrack for this ridiculous situation.
What do I do when it's done? Do I say thank you?
No, that would be weird.
What will I say? Maybe, I could say: "that was awful. I hope we never cross paths again?"
Nah, too dramatic and she's a lovely Doctor.
I think I'll just say nothing.
How sad is this? Women do this everyday and make no big deal of it.
Those women are amazing
Those women are tough as nails
Those women have access to better drugs than I do.
I'm going to tell her she has 60 seconds to do what's she gotta do in there and the I'm out.
These walls are too thin in these offices. I can hear someone getting 'done' and I am nauseated. She is chatting with the doc about her periods.
I expect to be gritting my teeth and hiding my eyes. I'll certainly have nothing to say during the procedure.
"So, doc, did you catch the Celtics game last night? That Isiah Thomas is some baller, eh?"
17 minutes late now.
News radio now. Good. Talk about murder or something and distract me.
What if she forgot about me in here? Maybe I'll just be really quiet and she'll head home for the night.
OMG they are talking about weather now.
A nurse just came in and asked me about some pills I was supposed to shove up inside me last night and I cried like a maniac at the thought and she hugged me.
She must think I'm some piece of work.
What pills? Was I supposed to get pills? I probably swallowed them.
Yep, that's me
So, I remember taking my anti anxiety pill this morning (shocker, I know) and then I think I took my Blood Pressure medicine (also not a surprise, right?!)
Nope, I definitely didn't swallow my vagina pills.
I just didn't get any.
The doctors kind face peeks in. She says gently: " Hey, awe Shanell what's going on?"
I cry harder.
She sits beside me and takes my hand.
I manage to tell her I'm afraid to have the biopsy.
She tells me that since I didn't follow the instructions and take the pills we probably should not do it today.
We will reschedule.
What the hell do those pills do?
I settle a little at the thought of escaping today. But quickly remember I'm just putting off the inevitable.
She reaches for my arm and apologizes for wasting my time.
What? This sweet doctor whose been faced with an unstable 40 year old women crying in her office is apologizing to me? Surely, I have wasted her time.
What a mess I've made.
The pills. The up your vagina pills were in a prescription she gave me for an IUD. I chickened out regarding the IUD (another surprise) and didn't fill the prescription. If you don't know what an IUD is, you'll have to google that.
I apologize between sniffs for confusing things and she kindly nods and reminds me it is no problem at all. She says she will be right back with a new appointment time and a brochure on another procedure that might work for me. She says she sent her receptionist home early because it is such a beautiful day.
So she's that kind of person and I've just sat and cried to her like she was considering taking my first born.
She's ushers me out with my new appointment time now.
She might be afraid to be alone with me at this point.
I can't blame her.
I'll make my way to the van.
I'll try and block this out and gear up for the next one.
Sure, I cried, blubbered even, but, I think I'll grab that wine in any case.
I can do this, right?!
Happy Mail to:
27 Wellington Row
Saint John, NB
Grace and Kate's mom. (Shanell)