Often times I find myself entering into conversations that are fueled by a continuous string of thoughts and after the fact, as I relive the highlights, I find myself wondering if the subject originally presented had anything to do with the direction things headed when all those thoughts and memories came running up to the podium fighting for their chance to be heard.
Tonight, at work, a much younger co-worker and I ended up in a rather whimsical conversation about the joys of being a woman. Due to the fact that I’m almost twice her age, I had a pretty substantial pile of musty stories that were looking pretty impressive once they were dusted off. I planned to present them as tactfully as I could but I decided to let her go first. I was confident with what I had to work with and I was pretty sure that whatever she was about to tell me could not even begin to compare to the levels of embarrassment I have been forced to digest in my 49 years.
Keep in mind, this conversation lasted less than 2 minutes and it happened when there were no customers present….we have scruples…..we do.
She said, “I will never forget the day I had my stent removed after my kidney stone episode. It was so embarrassing. The doctor had a camera and a probe inside my bladder and I could see my bladder on a TV screen so I attempted to make casual conversation about how that was something you don’t see everyday.” At this point I had found the perfect opportunity to take center stage. I asked her if she had ever had a sterile urine sample taken. She hadn’t and is now quite certain she never wants to. The nurse that got this lovely job when my legs and thighs were a mile high in the sky most likely did a little rethinking when it came to her career choice. She took a tiny little tube and made at least 12 attempts to poke it into my bladder opening and according to my experience, I have a very small bladder opening and it’s apparently, very difficult to locate.
On another occasion during that “time of the month” I found myself feeling around for that tiny little string that is always, always…….always attached to your feminine protection and for some reason, it wasn’t there. Hmmm…..where could it have gone? You don’t really believe it isn’t there so you check a second time……..and a third time……..and then a fourth time. At this point the thought process begins. What should I do? I AM NOT GOING TO THE DOCTOR! That was the only thing I was sure of at the moment. As the minutes ticked by my heart began to race and I thought of all kinds of crazy things that could happen and once my overactive brain had elevated my blood pressure to the point of blowing the top of my head clean off I found myself…..calling the clinic. I learned that for this type of office call, a sense of humor is very helpful. It happened quite a few years ago but I can still remember how closely the nurse was watching what the doctor was doing and I envisioned her with a huge bucket of popcorn and a box of Junior Mints. The movie had one of those cliff hanger type endings. Diagnosis: The doctor couldn’t find the string either or anything else for that matter. After this life changing experience I removed the possibility of it ever happening again and the only down side I’ve noticed so far is when I get the feeling I have just given birth to a jellyfish every time I cough or sneeze during that lovely “time of the month.”
I remember another time when I was in my early 20’s and I saw my doctor for my annual physical which included a PAP smear. I realize doctor’s see things like what he saw every day but I’ve always been very modest and I tend to grit my teeth the entire time I am put in such a compromising position. I’m always glad when it’s over and there’s a whole 12 months ahead before I have to do it again. After something like that I don’t want to see the doctor back in the examination room, in the hallway, at the nurse’s station or anywhere else for that matter, for an entire year, if at all possible. It just weirds me out! I wish there was a different way to accomplish what needs to happen but so far, it’s still feet in the air, thighs to the sky and I hate it. After my appointment I went back to work and a dear friend of mine stopped in and asked if I wanted to meet her at Taco John’s for supper. I accepted the invite and once my work day was complete I had sort of let go of my earlier humiliation and decided to just relax and eat tacos and laugh with my friend. We got there about the same time, placed our orders and just as we sat down to eat guess who walked into Taco John’s. MY DOCTOR!!!!! If I had gone in for a stuffy nose or a sore throat it wouldn’t have been any big deal but running into your doctor at Taco John’s just after he finished collecting microscopic bits of things I don’t even want to think about was just not my idea of something that should happen….ever. Obviously I survived and lived to tell about it but it still weirds me out just thinking about it.
I can’t honestly remember what was said to spark such an embarrassing compilation of stories but whatever it was, wasn’t nearly as thought provoking as the stories we both remembered when we got the chance to wear paper towel clothes and listen to our hearts pounded out a beat that could shatter glass while our skin produced goose bumps the size of Mt St Helen’s! Ah yes, the joys of being a woman….the graphic version, indeed!