Checking under the hood
Now that my husband is gainfully employed again and has been so for more than 90 days (no small miracle in this economy), I have bonafide medical insurance again. None of this emergency stuff. No sirree.
So, that means that all the stuff I've been putting off - like my annual mammogram and check of the, ahem, lady parts - are all getting done this week.
I was first humiliated with the British nurse (who doesn't mince words) had me step on the scale. She informed me that there is no way my jeans, sweatshirt and cell phone in my pocket weigh nine pounds, so therefore my scale at home is a BIG FAT LIAR and I'm much more of a lardass than I care to admit. (Ok, she was more diplomatic than that, but not much.)
After that meant peeing in a cup. (For you guys, we never get to see a doctor or nurse without having to pee in a cup first. Never mind that my tubes were tied in 2002. Nope. Peeing in a cup is mandatory.)
So, the best part comes when I'm told to strip and handed two drape thingees made out of an old pink sheet with drawstrings. I'm instructed to remove everything and put the openings in the back.
This is always comical with my, ahem, girls. The top part is like some sort of poncho and I felt like a particular South Park character that shall not be named here. Not a pretty picture. So, I'm trying to wrap the poncho around the girls, but under my armpits, so the fabric is secure.
In walks the British nurse again. Tsk, tsking, she is.
"You're going to get Dr. T all in a twitter looking all seductive like that. That won't do." At this point, she proceeds to pull the girls out and re-arrange the fabric while instructing me how to sit while covering more of my body.
So, the doc gets out the light and goes spelunking while talking about commuting, gas mileage and driving a fuel efficient vehicle. The small talk while they're up in me is always weird. I delivered a baby once talking about an Elton John concert the doc went to and that I wanted to go to. *shrug*
I was pronounced in good health and instructed to schedule my annual mammogram. (done, its set up for Friday). Then, I got the whole "You're 40 now, so we probably ought to check your thyroid and cholesterol." Then, he pauses before continuing with "and, you probably don't want to hear it, but how often do you exercise?" *deep sigh* I know, doc. Its on my to-do list.
And, it was. So, I went and joined the rec center today. I'm going to have a meeting with someone to help me develop a routine of exercises and get me acquainted with the equipment. They asked me my goals for working out: fitness, strength and weight loss. Yes, in that order. I like my body (for the most part), so I'm more concerned with not being such a wuss. If I get all buff, that's a bonus.
Now, see, after regaling everyone with that tale, I bet none of ya'll can wait to hear about the pancake squish on Friday.
So, that means that all the stuff I've been putting off - like my annual mammogram and check of the, ahem, lady parts - are all getting done this week.
I was first humiliated with the British nurse (who doesn't mince words) had me step on the scale. She informed me that there is no way my jeans, sweatshirt and cell phone in my pocket weigh nine pounds, so therefore my scale at home is a BIG FAT LIAR and I'm much more of a lardass than I care to admit. (Ok, she was more diplomatic than that, but not much.)
After that meant peeing in a cup. (For you guys, we never get to see a doctor or nurse without having to pee in a cup first. Never mind that my tubes were tied in 2002. Nope. Peeing in a cup is mandatory.)
So, the best part comes when I'm told to strip and handed two drape thingees made out of an old pink sheet with drawstrings. I'm instructed to remove everything and put the openings in the back.
This is always comical with my, ahem, girls. The top part is like some sort of poncho and I felt like a particular South Park character that shall not be named here. Not a pretty picture. So, I'm trying to wrap the poncho around the girls, but under my armpits, so the fabric is secure.
In walks the British nurse again. Tsk, tsking, she is.
"You're going to get Dr. T all in a twitter looking all seductive like that. That won't do." At this point, she proceeds to pull the girls out and re-arrange the fabric while instructing me how to sit while covering more of my body.
So, the doc gets out the light and goes spelunking while talking about commuting, gas mileage and driving a fuel efficient vehicle. The small talk while they're up in me is always weird. I delivered a baby once talking about an Elton John concert the doc went to and that I wanted to go to. *shrug*
I was pronounced in good health and instructed to schedule my annual mammogram. (done, its set up for Friday). Then, I got the whole "You're 40 now, so we probably ought to check your thyroid and cholesterol." Then, he pauses before continuing with "and, you probably don't want to hear it, but how often do you exercise?" *deep sigh* I know, doc. Its on my to-do list.
And, it was. So, I went and joined the rec center today. I'm going to have a meeting with someone to help me develop a routine of exercises and get me acquainted with the equipment. They asked me my goals for working out: fitness, strength and weight loss. Yes, in that order. I like my body (for the most part), so I'm more concerned with not being such a wuss. If I get all buff, that's a bonus.
Now, see, after regaling everyone with that tale, I bet none of ya'll can wait to hear about the pancake squish on Friday.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home