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I hate going to the Ob Gyn. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate is a strong word–I know and it’s fitting here.
We spell out the letters too. We should say Ob Gyn, pronounced “Ob. Gin” for Obligatory Gin Intake in order to survive the appointment.

What’s the point of writing everything down on the form if the doctor comes in and you have to explain it all again? Just read the form. What brings you in today? My car. I got in and drove here. I felt like seeing your shining face, the one that looks up at me like I’m full of it and informs me my mother doesn’t have endometriosis. Really?
She couldn’t have had ovarian cancer. That’s so weird because she did.

So when they called in February to tell me I had an irregular pap and it looked like I had precancerous cells, during that pause I did two things. First in my mind, I was a smart alec enjoying her mini vindication and I-told- you -so moment. Oh really? But how can that be? I don’t have a history of cancer and I’m full of it…. Next I was hit with the severity of the situation.

“It’s treatable,” the nurse said. Well yay. I needed to come in for another test.
Those results were fine, no precancerous cells, but I needed a follow-up in 6 months. Oh joy, when I thought I was rid of them and could find another doctor, they got me for another 6 months.

When I called to schedule my 6 month follow-up, the front desk let me know the doctor I had been seeing who had been so pleasant was no longer with the practice. I’m sure she moved on to bigger and better things, but I took a moment to revel in the idea someone slapped her with malpractice (which probably would have launched her onto bigger and better things).

So I’m in there today. The whole office feels lighter. It helped I didn’t have to wait with screaming couples blaming each other for their lack of pregnancy (maybe it’s a sign you’re not meant to procreate? You need therapy, not a child). They had a new system to check you in. I didn’t wait long in the waiting room. I had lost weight when the nurse weighed me. And then the niceties ended. It should have been a tip-off when the nurse said there were magazines here if I was interested. No Pregnancy Today and Conceive were not of interest to me, but thanks.

So I waited. And waited. Headed on 45 minutes. They went to lunch. They forgot me in here because I’m here for a follow-up. I entertained myself with Ob Gyn jokes, I considered creating a sketch show called “Vaginal Humor” but wondered if it was too much of a niche audience…

The nurse I was seeing burst in. “I’m so sorry for the wait.”
She saw I was here for a follow-up but…She flipped through my folder again.
“What were we following up?”
“Yes.”
I explained the whole thing. Oh that was in a different part of the folder. Okay.

The nurse was immensely better than the doctor I had before. I don’t know if enough to keep me at that practice. They may have me for another 6 months when the test results come back.

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