Okay, so nobody likes going for a physical. It's not really so much fun, what with getting weighed, naked, pap-smeared, boob-grabbed, whathaveyou. But what makes the physical even worse, above and beyond the indignities one suffers whilst there, is the 'idle' chit chat that occurs during these indignities. This is the thing I hate the very most. I think I have mentioned elsewhere that the time my doc loves to have the 'let's talk about losing weight' discussion whence between my fat thighs wearing a miner's lamp. Mmmhmmm. Which is super fun. Because being bodily judged while also naked is, you know, all kinds of awesome. Anyhoooo. I'm like so over it. And then on top of all of this, there's the ever-more embarassing things you have to bring up at the doctor's office, which seem to get more FUN each year. Topping this year's list was: achey feet and the fact that my new happy pills are causing some disturbances in ye olde sex life (sorry mom). Which is to say, they do not allow me to hit the ball outta the park, so to speak. No home runs. Which is, perhaps a bit funnily, depressing. (And yes, I know this is probably TMI. But I also know I'm not the only one this happens to, so I'm talking about it. If it weirds you out, look away :)
Yesterday, I miraculously did not get the 'fat talk.' Possibly because I've lost some weight, but more likely because I got the resident instead of my regular doc.
But here's the fun chit chat that did occur...
*a conversation (more like explanation, because I wasn't actually talking) about why we lose breast density (aka get saggy boobs) whilst doing my breast exam (oh.my.gawd.)
** "You're not quite 50 yet, so we won't hit you with too much bloodwork. In a few years, there'll be much more!" I'm 36. Would you say a 14 year old is 'a few years' old? There's nothing wrong with being 50. Fifty is the new 40, or so I'm told. But I'm 36. And 36 is not actually the new 50.
*** Getting a new happy pill prescription to deal with my 'sexual dysfunction.' To which I wanted to splutter "I function! I function just fine! I function great! Your fucking happy pills don't function! I FUNCTION!' A brief spot of insight into how guys who need Viagra must feel. Sexual dysfunction. Jeezuz.
**** a discussion about how the balls of my feet are sore because my mom has bunions, so I likely will as well, in about ten years time or so. So I ought to consider orthotics or at least stop wearing my pretty shoes. SAY WHAT???? (I don't f@cking think so. I may someday soon just be getting to the point where I can actually afford some of the pretty shoes I covet. Seriously. I've spent the bulk of my life, flat assed broke and covetting pretty shoes. And now that I have a glimpse of someday in the future when I might be able to shoe shop? No foot pain will deter this. Burning hot knives stabbing right through my feet will not deter this. Alrighty?). And how come none of the women on Sex and The City got bunions, anyways? Bunions? Growl.
I'm so not ready for this aging bit.
And I'm so glad I don't have to go back until next year.