All you men complain that you have to deal with "the finger" once a year. Ohhhhhh....a prostate exam....that's just so invasive. It lasts all of 5 seconds. Try donning a paper gown and lying with you feet in stirrups as a someone hangs out down by your Woo Haa for 10-15 minutes. Then we'll talk.
Nothing is worse than the Box Doctor. I would rather spend the entire day under Partner #3's thumb than spend 2 seconds with my doctor who must dip his hands in ice water before he gives me a breast exam. But the events of my last visit are so hilarious that I felt I must share them with you.
Like all women, (normal women) I hate the annual visit to Dr. Box. I hate the waiting rooms that only have parenting magazines. I hate the other patients, most of whom are 18 or younger and look like they live under a rock. You gotta love community health care. My doctor switched to a different office a few years ago and now I have to hang out with the dregs of society. I know that it makes me sound like a snob. But, it burns me to know that I'm paying for these little tramps health care. If I didn't like my doctor so much, I would switch to another who has a private practice.
But, I digress....
I'm sitting there waiting for my turn and reading about the latest strides in breast pumps. Stimulating stuff. FINALLY, the door opens and a women calls my name. She didn't look like one of the regular nurses, but I figured that maybe things were busy and one of the office girls was doing the check ins. We exchanges pleasantries and walked towards the scale for the weigh in. I took off my shoes and stepped on the scale backwards. I never look at the weigh in and I make sure they never tell me my weight. The visit is painful enough.
So I'm standing there as she's knocking the weights back and forth, frowning at herself. She glances at my chart, then glances back up at the scale. She looks at me, looks at my chart and says, "Well, I see you've gained a bit of weight".
Bitch! She's acting like I've gained 50 lbs. Maybe I put on a few pounds, but it was winter weight gain from the holidays. She was looking at me like I had morphed into Oprah after a late night cookie binge.
I gave her a tight smile as I step off the scale and back into my heels to follow her down to the exam room. I was already scripting my complaint to my doctor about this bitch's attitude. How did some office wench have the balls to make a comment about my weight. She was no supermodel. In fact, she probably outweighed me by 20 lbs.
We go into the exam room and turned to her for my gown. Instead, she closed the door and sat down on the doctors stool with my chart and invited me to have a seat in the guest chair. At this point, I am totally confused. Why is this woman in here with me and where was the doctors nurse?
"How have you been feeling" she asked me.
"Fine" I sighed while staring up at the ceiling wishing for cold hands on boobies instead of this bitch's company.
"You not in any discomfort. No spotting or breast soreness?"
"No," I said with obvious irritation. Why was this woman asking me all these questions? Where was the fucking doctor?
"How long has it been since your last appointment"
I looked at her with a raised eyebrow "A year" I said with a bit of attitude. "This is my annual exam" Who was this chick? Wasn't she reading my chart?
She looked even more confused than when she had practically called me a heifer as she weighed me in. "So, how's the baby doing?"
Baby? What baby?
"Um, I don't have a baby" I said.
She looked up from my chart and said, "You didn't just have a baby a month ago"
I smiled and said, "I think I would remember if I did"
Her eyes grew wide and she frantically flipped through my chart. "What's your date of birth" she panted.
"April 18, 1977"
Her mouth dropped open as she found the right page. "Oh my God. You're the wrong person"
She was mortified and I just started laughing. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't confuse me for someone who needed an STD shot."
She continued to look horrified, grabbed the chart and walked out of the room mumbling "I'll get the nurse."
Apparently, there were two Serena's in the waiting room. Due to privacy laws, they can only call out your first name. When my name was called, I was the first one to jump up. The woman who called my name was the nurse practitioner and not an office administrator. I still wonder how she kept going even after the weigh-in. Once all this was sorted out, I got a peek at the other girl. She was barely 5 ft tall and couldn't have weighed more than 90lbs. (I'm 5'6" and built like a brick house.)
I'm thinking I might switch doctors now.