Preventative Maintenance??

Lately I have been blogging a lot on my laptop. I take it into bed, plug it in, fire up the heating pad for some aching or cold part of my body, catch up on a few emails, and write my blog. Occasionally a friend will be online and IM me, and we will chat in between paragraphs.

Occasionally as I prepare to write, I draw a blank, and think, what the hell do I have to say that is so important? Then I think about a few of the amazing/appalling/disgusting/scary/sensual things that happen to me in the course of a day, and I type away.

Today was ALMOST the last part of my series of doctor's visits that one must endure in the name of "preventative maintenance". In light of the health history of my parents AND children, I do keep up with my doctor appointments on a regular basis.

A few weeks ago it was the mammogram, where someone I never know is handling my breasts and squashing them between plates in various angles. Today was the "internal" exam.

I had fit it in between jobs, and did not have a lot of time to spend on this appointment. When I arrived, the waiting room had several people, and I asked the secretary if my doctor was running behind. After working in the medical field, I know what can happen. I said to the secretary with a laugh, "can she make this a quick in and out?" Fortunately Sandy has known me long enough to laugh along with me.

No, she said, and I had no sooner settled into a good magazine, about to read the importance of birth-order, and have my entire life explained for me, when the nurse looked at me with a "come hither" look and I was in.

I made some joke with the nurse which I don't think she got, then went into the bathroom to give my paltry urine sample. I drew all over the cup, and I hear her from the other room say "oh, this one is an artist". I laughed.

Doc comes in, we have our usually chat. Lynne has been taking care of me for 30 years now, and knows me more intimately than almost anyone. She knows my sorrows, my losses, my joys, and my pain. She has been a friend and a healer. But she can never find my cervix.

This visit she tells me that I should get a flu shot. I reluctantly agree, and the nurse whom I think I have accidentally insulted comes in with the needle. She waves the needle around a few times, tells me to relax, (RELAX? I HATE NEEDLES!!) and then STABS it into my arm.

As of this writing, my arm aches, my butt feels like the doc left her finger in there, and I won't get into any of the other details for the sake of being halfway proper.

And to think, I am turning 50. I see a colonoscopy on the horizon.

In fear,

Patti