I went to the gynecologists today.
It's a long, narrow, rather bleak sort of waiting room, especially at 9:30 in the morning, made even more beige and bland and sterile-ish by the empty magazine racks and signs bleating about handwashing, germs, and H1N1.
Although there is a table full of brochures. Go figure.
My doctor was MIA this morning - pissing me mightily, as I'd thrown the kids out the door, bolted a cup of coffee and driven the 'fast roads' there.* The office had unbent enough to tell me he wasn't in yet, but hadn't wanted to go into detail. Pity. I would have liked to know.
After all, if he was dealing with some sort of gyno emergency (Monistat! CLEAR!) then this huff I was working on would be wasted.
But for now I was trapped in a room with a slightly-off track ceiling fan (whick! whick! ting!) and one other woman, who was smacking her candy and staring out the window.
This could only get better.
I was sitting across from a poster extolling 'Top Ten Reasons to Adopt a School-Age Child' which I misread in my almost-decaffeinated state as 'Top Ten Reasons to Adopt Out a School-Age Child' - and while that was very progressive and New Age-ish (frighteningly so!) it reaaally didn't seem to fit - and besides, what could Cass and Rosey DO that would make me think about leaving them at the doctor's office?
I was musing burning down the house? when they finally called my name, and Laconic McEnglishman (he is of the imperious sort, and stares at me blankly when I crack up when he talks about 'marital relations') and I settled in to talk.
And yay! No nakedness. The ladybits were shyly appreciative. This was getting better!
The (big bad wolf) cysts were gone and/or smaller, and we both agreed that switching me to another type of progesterone would a) continue to keep my cycles....cyclical, and b) stop me from screeching don't touch me! whenever anyone came close for a hug. (Which should please Bear.)
If this type doesn't stop me from getting a bad case of the over-sensitives, I told him I'm stopping them. He'll just have to think of something else.
He didn't like that much - mainly because I think not many of his patients tell him what they're going to do - (the imperiousness, again) but it's my body, and I can't take feeling like leaning forward is going to snap me in half.**
So I smiled a lot and told him I'd see him in a few months and waltzed out of there.
Sometimes you just have to feel like you're piloting your own health-care ship.
Back in the car, where I drove quickly and expertly back to my job. Another beige-ish room.
But at least this one painting the cats? didn't have me wondering about getting rid of the kiddles.
*Am not leadfoot. I just get there more quickly than (ahem *cough* husband) some people do.
**The precautions list says to expect breast and ovary tenderness. Tenderness my ass.