Tomorrow I get to go to an appointment where I'll strip down to almost nothing but a paper shirt, sit back on a reclining chair, put my feet up in stirrups (DAMN, gotta do toenails tonight) and let a stranger nose around and check out my innards. It's not like this is anything new; I've been subjected to this atrocity for almost twenty-five years now. But no matter how many times I go through it, it NEVER gets any easier or more fun.
I realize I'm lucky to be able to afford healthcare.
We're lucky to have the technology to prevent a slew of problems by doing nothing more than getting a check-up. We live in amazing and wonderful medical times and I shouldn't complain.
I was thinking about it. As with household chores, men sort of most of the time almost always get off easier than women. What's the most humiliating thing a man goes through at the doctor - the prostate exam and that ball-grabbing, turn the head and cough thing? Please! If I knew tomorrow the doctor would only have to grab my boobs and make me cough, I'd be a hell of a lot less freaked right now. And I'll admit I don't know exactly what goes on in a prostate exam, but I'd be willing to guess it doesn't involve a cold sharp speculum.
And...say we're ever in the position to become parents...I just wonder how it got arranged so that the balance of jobs got tipped so far one way in the woman's favor. Of course I WANT a child, of course I'm willing to go through whatever hellish nightmare lies in store in order to GET a child, but damn. It's scary.
I like being a girl. Most of the time when you catch me saying stuff like this, it's the day before a doctor's appointment or something similar. Maybe one day out of the month, every twenty-eight days or so. But now is not the time for complaints. It's time to buck up and be a brave little soldier. Did you know a certain tribe of Indians used to stick tiny pieces of pine into a person and light it on fire so the person could actually watch themselves slowly burn to death?
Sorry for that visual, but what I'm trying to say (and convince myself) is that it could be worse. Much worse.
I also just found out my cousin is having breast reduction surgery today. This is what I mean. Through no fault of her own, she got stuck with huge and I mean humongous boobs ever since she was thirteen and has dealt with backaches and bad jokes for twenty years. Now she's going through a painful surgery trying to get rid of both, I'm guessing.
I'm done. I'm not bitter or unhappy, just nervous.