A warning to all guys who read this: the next couple paragraphs are not going to be very pleasant for you, but I think that the girls that read this will agree with me. Sorry =P Now there are a lot of young men out there who decide either in college or in high school that they are going to go into the revered career of medicine. Now, of course, there�s nothing wrong with that as that society needs its fair share of doctors so that we non-medically incline people don�t die when something randomly goes wrong with us. However, I have to ask myself what kind of guy decides at this turning point in his life, that he is going to go into gynecology. Obviously, any young man in college that decides that he�s going to poke, prod, feel, and look at the nether regions of women is going into the profession either for his undying devotion to women or he gets off on touching women in their most vulnerable of times.
I despise this yearly appointment more than I despise most things because, I swear, it is the most uncomfortable that I can possibly be. When I arrived at the office, I got my choice of magazines that included subjects targeted at parenting, kids, women�s health, soap operas, and People Magazine. It makes me wonder what the poor uncomfortable husbands and boyfriends read while their waiting for or with their wives. After staring blankly at the random soap opera or women�s show that was on TV for about fifteen minutes, I was called to the desk to fill out yet another History of Health form. Why the fuck don�t they keep the one that I fill out the previous year? How can it possibly change all that much?
Have you been diagnosed with AIDS/HIV? Why yes, yes I have�.seriously now! Anyway, I went through the usual questions referring to my family background and came to the question �Any previous surgeries/procedures?�
Now, I hate this question. I really do. First of all, the line is not big enough for my myriad of visits to the hospital. Secondly, it always leads to questions as to why I�ve had these procedures done. I�m not sure if these nurses ask because they�re curious or because they have to, but I have to wonder why they don�t write it down in my chart so that they don�t have to ask me. Anyway, after filling out the front of the sheet, I turn to the back:
Do you use any of the following for recreation:
Cocaine
Heroin
Alcohol
Marijuana
Blah blah blah�.I wonder who actually answers these questions honestly�
Then there was the last section:
Do you wear your seatbelt?
�and other questions of the sort. I wonder how that�s relevant to a doctor that sees very little of me above the waist.
Anyway, after filling out the form and waiting some more, I got to go into a room, drop off my coat and wait some more outside the doctor�s office. After talking with me for what seemed like less than a moment he lead me to my �room� and handed me a paper gown with instructions and said he�d be back in a moment.
Now by paper gown, I mean paper vest that went to about my navel. What was I supposed to do? I was sure there was a mistake, I mean, before there were cloth gowns that at least covered my ass. I looked around the room for another paper �gown� thinking that they had made a mistake, but alas, the tiny little thing was all they offered me. I reluctantly took off my clothes and sat down in the chair. Was I supposed to just chill like that with my legs crossed and only my upper half barely covered? I grabbed the paper blanket and barely had the chance to drape it over myself when Dr. Icky knocked and opened the door.
He immediately walked to my side and the nurse walked toward my legs and took the paper blanket away from me. I was about ready to whine and scramble to cover myself when the doctor opened the vest and started�.well�.doing his job.
While he�s doing this, he�s asking me about school.
You know how when you go to the dentist, the hygienist talks to you when she�s cleaning your teeth and how uncomfortable and strange it is when you answer? Well multiply the uncomfortable-ness factor by 100 and take off all of your clothes.
Then, after briefly checking my breasts for cancerous tumors, he moved to his stool for the dreaded part to begin. Apparently, the office had installed new chairs that move you up to expose you in every single way. So I was moving up and lost all view of the doctor. He started to pull my knees apart on the stirrups.
�Relax, relax�� he said. He laughed and said to the nurse, �Man she�s a tight one,� referring to the fact that I fight him every single time I�m stuck in this horrible position.
However, you can see that this could be taken a different way.
He realized his error and laughed, �Well, you know what I mean��
Well, while I could no longer see him, he starts asking me about school.
�Well, I have to schedule in about fifteen minutes�� I said, chuckling nervously.
�Well, let�s make this quick and painless then,� he said and thankfully moved as quickly as possible.
I had only one more phase to go through. He told me to get dressed and come to his office to speak with him. While I was in the middle of changing, the nurse just walks in and starts cleaning up. I was a bit peeved by this because what makes her think that just because she�s of the same sex as me that I�m comfortable with her in there watching me change?
Rather than argue, I quickly dressed and booked it to his office where he had a new prescription for my depo shots waiting me.
�Get at least three servings of calcium a day, exercise 30 minutes a day for three times a week, eat right, don�t do drugs, wear your seatbelt, always use condoms, and have fun at school.�
I nodded, realizing what all those questions at the end of the form were for, and ran for the door. I did not want to see that office for another year, at least�
Alright boys, the bad part is over.
I did manage to get home at exactly noon and scheduled every single class that would fit into my schedule. My motto is: schedule everything now, drop whatever is unnecessary later. I decided since I had plenty of time, I would schedule a haircut appointment at my salon, but I remembered that my usual stylist was not available. This left me in quite a conundrum: I could go to my salon and schedule with someone else and risk someone telling my stylist that I had seen someone else (you never want to piss off the person who is in charge of making your hair look beautiful) or I could try another salon. I was actually quite surprised that I was even willing to go see another person that I barely knew and trusted, but I figured who could screw up a basic trim? Well, I called a couple of salons but found myself very unhappy with the idea of paying $30-$50 for a half inch to be cut off of my hair. So I picked up the phone and scheduled with another stylist at my salon. After all, with all of the people they see, who would honestly recognize me? I was just being paranoid.
I arrived for my appointment and found that my new stylist had a fairly strong accent and felt the fear edging on me. She couldn�t possibly mess up�I kept telling myself. I only wanted a trim�and of course new bangs but I had the foresight to bring a picture with me. M (I�ll call her) looked at my picture and started to wash my hair. She was a bit rougher than L (my usual stylist) with washing my hair but was careful to avoid my cartilage piercing in my right ear.
She sat me down and said, �You want face framing?�
�Huh?� was all I could say. She walked away for a moment to return with a book of hairstyles. She showed me a redhead with layers that framed her face and realization dawned on me.
�Oh�yeah sure,� I said, starting to let my mind wander while she snipped away. M was not much of a talker. I started to think about the picture of Jessica Simpson on my mirror and how I was growing my hair out. My hair was about two inches longer than my last haircut so I was obviously on my way nicely. Suddenly my mind drifted to JH, the Romeo,and how after I had told him that I wanted to grow my hair out, he had clasped my hair in his hands and told me how utterly beautiful I would look.
That got me thinking.
It made me think about how unbelievably sweet JH had been. He was a great listener and he was so mature. It truly was a shame that things had not really worked out.
Well, M had finished cutting and asked me how I liked it. I nodded and muttered a response because I could barely tell since my hair was still wet. That�s when I decided to splurge for the blow out and have my hair styled. M smiled and nodded when I relented and began spraying my hair and turned on the blowdryer.
Now, M was not all that great at washing my hair but she was a goddess and brushing it while styling. Every time the brush ran through my hair, I closed my eyes and felt the tingles down my back. I had never so thoroughly enjoyed having my hair dried, usually I hate the process of drying my hair. After my hair was completely dry, M put some kind of styling goop on her hair and smoothed it through my tresses. Instantly my hair became shinier and seemed to fall into perfect style.
She asked again, �How do you like it?�
I was stunned. It looked absolutely great. It had been a long time since my hair had looked so nice simply blow dried and not curled. She handed me a card and my bill. I tipped her and picked out a couple of the products that she had used.
I left the salon feeling great until it hit me:
What was I supposed to do the next time that I get my hair cut? I liked M�s work so much but I�ve been seeing L for four years now. Obviously I couldn�t just give up L and start seeing M without offending her, and since I�m so recognizable I�m sure that M would recognize me if I went back to L and wonder what she had done wrong.
I had forgotten to mention that I usually see L.
Doh.
I could have made this so much easier on myself.
I guess I�ll have to figure something out later.
Anyway, I should be getting to bed as I have to get up nice and early to visit with the fam tomorrow and celebrate Easter.
And I�m still sick�ugh.
