The day I had been dreading finally arrived. And quickly too; I’ll tell you what, it seems like it takes three years for the next pay day to get here, but doctor’s appointments and dentist appointments get here in some kind of quantum leap.
Hot doctor.
I was not looking forward to this.
As I strolled into the building, I glanced at the company listing board because I have this irrational fear the doctors office is going to move to a different floor and not notify me. And in that brief instant, I noticed beside Hot Doctor’s name was DO. Not MD.
Mother of god, what is a DO? If he’s a DO, does that mean he’s DO-ing me? What does this mean? How else could this go wrong?
In horror, I texted my girl Jossie back at work. “WTF?” I texted. I asked her the DO-ing question.
“Doctor of Osteopathic Medicine,” she responded. “Same schooling as an MD.”
Okay, good, so he has schooling and a license. It’s not time to panic yet.
They call me back way too fast. So after I get my blood pressure taken (low!) and weight checked (where did those two pounds come from?), the nurse rummages though a cupboard and hands me the ubiquitous paper gown (pink) and paper cloth lap…thing. She’s stuffily professional. “You need to stay dressed. The doctor will come in to speak with you. Then he will leave and you can get undressed.”
Wait, say again? I’m staying dressed? I panicked a little. “So just to confirm. I’m keeping my clothes on?”
She gave me an odd look. “Yes.”
Well this just doesn’t make sense.
Once the nurse is out of the room, I grab my phone and text Jossie. “I’m keeping my clothes on? He has to come in and talk to me? Does he know about the blog? Is he on to me??! WHAT’S GOING ON??”
Jossie: “LMAO.”
Hot Doctor knocks on the door and comes into the room. I stash my phone. I rip completely through the paper lap thing with my engagement ring. Smooth as always!
And….he’s not exactly Hot Doctor anymore. He’s more Moderately Attractive Doctor with a Distractingly Bad Haircut. Still, I don’t care what doctor you are, hot or otherwise, terms like “vaginal flora” are going to make me squirm. And yet, even so, I will look you dead in the eye and say, “Indeed.”
It was some kind of bizarre discussion of a medical form I filled out. It felt like a sobriety test. What are the names and ages of your kids? Where do you work? So you only drink on occasion?
Thank God the actual exam part was quick. But painfully awkward. Examples:
Moderately Attractive Doctor during boob check: “Did you breast feed?”
Me: (what I thought) Yeah, my boobs suck these days. This is why Victoria’s Secret is my secret, Captain Obvious. (what I said) Nope.
And when, prior to commencing the pelvic exam, he continued to talk to me, seated on the stool at the foot of the exam table.
It was was actually kind of hard to see him. And damn it, I hadn’t shaved my legs. It’s somewhat (not really) like when The Hubs and I were dating. The first time he put his hand on my leg, I had to apologize and admit I had only shaved from the knee down because, you know, “I wasn’t expecting this kind of thing.” He responded with, “You should always be ready for this kind of thing.”
Words to live by, kids. Words to live by.