Imagine,
if you will, a plump fifty-something female with a life long history
of self-esteem issues lying virtually naked on a gynecological
examination table, receiving her annual physical, from a doctor who
thinks that the best way to distract his patients from what he is
doing, is to make inane conversation sprinkled with the
occasional, but never predictable, verbal gotcha!
Thus
is the relationship I have had with my gyn for the past sixteen
years. Why do I continue to see him? Well, two reasons, actually.
First, he has never found anything wrong with me – and, I like and
appreciate that in a doctor. And second – I now have sixteen
stories!
The
most outrageous of all those stories is the physical of 2007. In
2007, Mike and I were not yet married, but the doctor knew that Mike was in my life. He knew that because
a couple of years earlier he had asked if I was in a relationship,
and I told him about Mike.
At
that time, the doctor wrote one word down on the cheat sheet that is
the front of my file folder. The cheat sheet is what the doctor looks
at before entering the examination room each year – the cheat sheet
where he puts one or two bits of the info on it into his brain and then
comes into the room pretending as if he really remembers me from the
year before!
The
year I told him about Mike, the doctor wrote down one word on the
cheat sheet.
That word was not Mike.
That
word was not relationship.
Can
you guess what that one word was?
Alabama.
The
state that Mike is from – the state that the doctor had led me to
believe he was from. By seeing that one word –
Alabama – on the cheat sheet before entering the exam room
for my physical each year, the doctor has enough ammunition
for silly small talk for years to come!
And
so the physical of 2007 began. The doctor came into the room and
asked me a few questions about the past year. He wrote down notes on
anything that was pertinent to my health.
Then he said, “Well, let's get started.”
That
was my cue to lie down.
I
stared up at a spot on the ceiling – my own attempt at distraction.
But I could not concentrate, and I could not relax because the silly
small talk was about to begin. I would have to be alert – pay
attention – say “yes” and “no” in all the right places; I
would have to sound interested – no matter how offbeat the subject
matter was; and I could never ever sound defensive – or I
would be teased.
And besides, I harbored the notion that one day I would match wits with him
– if I went along with his conversation – I might get the
better of him – perhaps 2007 would be my year!
I
waited for the talking to begin – out there some where.
The
silence was making me more and more nervous.
Then
my whole body jumped about an inch off of the table!
There
was whispering at the level of my right ear!
“Your
boyfriend's family doesn't like you very much, do they?”
My
eyes opened wide! I could not believe what I was hearing – was he
really going to go there with me – into the abyss of my
insecurities?
“I
think they like me,” my voice squeaked out.
“And
what makes you so sure?” his voice was louder now and gruff.
“What
makes you so sure they don't like me?” I asked, in
all my nakedness.
“Well,”
he snorted, “They are from Alabama, and you are......not.”
Shucks!
He was just messing with me! Just messing with me.
It
took all the self confidence I had been able to amass in my
fifty-something years to respond,
“I
think that his family is happy that I am in Mike's life, and
they don't care where I'm from.”
“Oh
really? Do you eat grits?”
“No,”
I was instantly humbled, and he knew he was winning.
He swooped in for the kill.
“Do
you eat greens?”
“Okra?”
“Drink
sweet tea?”
“I'll
bet you're not even a Baptist!”
“No," I gasped, "But one time Mike asked me to try creamed corn, and another
time lima beans, and I like them both now!”
“Creamed
corn!” he snorted again with disgust, “Do you honestly
mean to tell me that there has never been any friction at all
between his family and you because you are a Yankee?”
I
made a face, tried to keep it in, but finally I burst out, “All
right! All right! Once, there was a little bit of
friction because of the pimento cheese!”
The
doctor shook with glee, “You don't eat pimento cheese?”
his delight at having achieved verbal gotcha was audibly
orgasmic!
“I
don't like it,” I said with a vanquished breath.
“And
his family will never accept you... Give me your hand, I'll
help you sit up, we are all done here, everything is fine, see you
next year!”
And with that he was gone.
But
I was not okay.
Because
he......had seen.......me naked!
174
20150623 the Physical of 2007
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