Coffee break, 10:15 am:

I have an appointment with a doctor today over my lunch hour, and it is taking all my willpower to stay put at my desk and not feign illness so that I can run home and hide under the covers and play the "Growth? What Growth Are You Talking About? Because I Don't Know About Any Growths!™" game.

The last time I went to a doctor for anything more thorough than a cursory check of some specific ill was way back in the spring of 2001. The only reason I went then was so that I would know that I was not dying of anything before I married the Fiery One in June of that year. I didn't want to marry him and then suddenly go Oops, sorry, it turns out I'm going to die right away!

When I had that last physical examination just over five years ago, it turned out that I was physically doing quite well, but I walked out with a prescription for P@xil with which to weather my last few months left living with my parents and the wedding I swore I would never have from the time I was eight years old.

Since 2001, I have only gone in for swollen tonsils, a mad bout with acne, and an ear cleaning, because I find the whole experience far too invasive. I mean, I know that doctors have to be physically invasive to figure out if you're healthy or not, but most of the time I would prefer to sail along on a sea of denial until I am whoops! sucked into a whirlpool of quick demise.

But before you start wagging your finger at me, let me remind you that I have booked an actual appointment for an actual physical with an actual doctor for this coming lunch hour. I am actually going to do it. Stirrups, getting felt up, the whole bit.

Ten minutes before my appointment, 12 noon:

Would you believe me if I told you that I got my period one week early and exactly fifteen minutes before I am to hop up onto an examining table, throw my legs into some stirrups, and get cranked open with a speculum? It's true.


The appointment went well, especially since I was able to avoid the whole part where I would have had to pretend like I didn't have some stranger's lubed-up fingers shoved up my hoo-ha.

I used to have a doctor years ago in Cosmopolis who had posters tacked to the ceiling of her office for just such occasions, and she even had the forethought to use only ones with print large enough to read from the patient's position on the table. My least favourite was the one with Mona Lisa riding a bicycle. Her smile had been broadened to make the viewer believe that she was truly enjoying her pink-cheeked romp through nature, but when the viewer happened to be naked, prone, and in the middle of a medical fingering, the healthful Mona Lisa's smile began to look more like a lascivious grin.

The doctor meant well, but those appointments with her were made even more uncomfortable than they had to be by that voyeur on the ceiling. Not only was I trying to avoid eye contact with my doctor, but I was also doing my best to ignore the unblinking gaze of that vulgar Florentine.

The doctor I had today was fast and had a cold manner, which I prefer. I don't want any small talk or human warmth, because gah!, it's all too personal. When I hoist myself up onto the table, I like to pretend that my body is some sort of machine, and I much prefer it if the doctor who is checking out my machine not only treats it like one but also acts like a robot while they're doing it.

I have one word of caution, though. When you have just gotten your period and the symptoms are kicking in, breast and abdominal exams HURT, and so when you're doctor is asking you if this or that or the other spot being pressed upon is experiencing any discomfort, you have to say YES, YES, ALL OF IT HURTS, ESPECIALLY THERE, AND YES, MY NIPPLES DO TURN THIS FUNNY SHADE OF PURPLE ON THE FIRST DAY, and then your doctor can give up and reschedule you, because doing this TWICE in two weeks leaves me feeling fucking giddy like a kid on a merry-go-round at the park.

And, as an added bonus: I get to continue playing "Growth? What Growth Are You Talking About? Because I Don't Know About Any Growths!™" It's the best. I think it's put out by Milt0n Bradley.

If God did indeed create the world, was this honestly the best he could come up with? I'm just saying.

Places I've read recently: Soul Gardening, The Bahm Shelter, and I am still on 25peeps.com and beating it like a dead horse.

#515: How I Spent My Sick Day (With Photographs to Document the Occasion)