Ahh, the gynecologist. Nothing says fun like the phrase, “scooch down please”.
As we, as women (well, duh, like a dude is going to go to the gyno) age, having our girlie parts spelunked in becomes just more and more enjoyable. Period, babies, menopause, and then death. I’m sugar coating it a bit…
We start by getting our periods, which nowadays thanks to hormone-ladened-genetically-modified food, comes earlier and earlier. This first frightens the bajeezus out of us and then we tolerate them. Then, we are confused by them and then miss them. Well, we miss the thought of them. Okay, maybe not. I still have mine, so check back with me in a few years and I will let you know if I miss them. I am guessing no.
On July 13, 1980 I got my period for the first time. As all women do, I remember the exact moment. That wonderfully, dauntingly, awful and extraordinary moment of my first step into womanhood. Of course, I was up at my friend Josh’s parent’s cabin without my mother. Yep. Eleven o’clock at night I look down and the first thought was, “Oh my god, I’m dying!!!” The second thought was, “I want my mommy.” Try sharing a room with a prepubescent boy when you both are thirteen and having his mom explain this particular rite of passage to you without the prepubescent boy finding out. Ugh, the thought of Josh knowing that I had, well, ya know, become a woman in his presence was just more than my own pubescent self could handle. I don’t think he ever found out, which was good for both of us. I am guessing he really had no desire to know that Aunt Flow was visiting his parent’s cabin as well.
Then of course the whole teenage hormonal-thing totally sucks. I just read this article which explained how when female chimpanzees hit puberty they up and leave the chimpanzee nest. Or tree. If they don't want to leave, the parents just kick them out. This seems to cut down on fighting between the teenage females and the parental females. Sometimes I think my mom would have preferred sending my sister and me off somewhere during those particular years. Oh hey, that was what summer camp was for.
My mom was pretty great while we were burgeoning woman. In retrospect, she had a lot of patience for us. My dad traveled often for business, which was a wise idea. Having three premenstrual women in the house at the same time would make any man travel a lot. My mom volunteered for Planned Parenthood back then which made talking to her easy. I think she enjoyed the closeness we felt for her. I think some of my friends were envious of the relationship I had back then with her as well as the one I have nowadays with her. She was always good at finding the right thing to say to us. Well, most of the time. The past is always more romantic when you view it from twenty years past. The best thing she ever told me about sex was, “If you have to ask yourself a question more than once, most likely the answer is no.” Of course listening to yourself is the hard part. You keep hearing yourself think, “this is a baaaaad idea” and yet…well, learning from one’s mistakes is part of growing up too. I guess that means I am still growing up. Crap.
My mom could also always find the coolest cards for every occasion. I bring this up because she still does this. She actually found a little plaque for me that read, “She packed up her potential and all she had leaned, grabbed a cute pair of shoes and headed out to change a few things.” She just sent this to me. Like, two days ago. I love it. At first, I thought she had had it made for me and was a little let down when she told me she bought it in an airport. Because who else could this plaque possibly be meant for?!?! Seriously, I actually packed up my potential and my cute shoes and actually headed out and changed some stuff. I do like that I have a little plaque hanging on the fridge that validates this idea of what I did and what I have changed. But now I am forced to wonder who else has one of these plaques…hmmm…
So, back to the road map of woman. Babies. Then we decide to have babies which cause several things to happen. First, strange and magical things happen to our bodies as we grow a person in our bellies. Most things women won’t tell you because we want the human species to continue. We don’t want to scare the younger girls. Actually, if we did share this info with some promiscuous teenage girls they might use more birth control. I won’t go into details here because there are guys who read what I write and I want them to continue to read my blog. Also, the mothers who are reading this already know what these “magical” things are. They can just giggle, nod, roll their eyes and I will continue writing. Where was I? Oh yeah. Secondly, all modesty goes out the window when you give birth. You will have a nurse or three, doctors, interns, residents getting a peek at the crowning baby and you sooooo don’t care that you haven’t waxed in six months. Which is good. This way you can focus on pushing out a baby. (yes, ow.) Thirdly, this thing called “pregnancy head” happens where you can’t remember anything. That side effect doesn’t seem to go away. Now I refer to it as “momnesia” and my mom calls it a “senior moment”. I have also heard it referred to as “CRS” and for the life of me I can’t remember what the hell that stands for.
Anyway, after babies, you hit your forties and all hell breaks loose. Although the whole myth of the sexual peak seems to be true, so it’s not all bad.
In our forties, we start getting hormonal. Well, more hormonal than we used to be. Things like pimples occur which is, like, come on, I have crow’s feet and wrinkles now? Seriously? Maybe it’s not so much the hormones that are affecting me but rather the physical side effects from the hormones that are just pissing me off. Pimples, skin that used to be tight and is now squishy, wrinkles, weird periods, having something snipped out of your uterus, these things would piss off the happiest person. Yes, before all of these raging hormones I was a cheerful, sprightly optimist with a song in my heart. No, really. Whatever.
Oh! "Can't Remember Shit" That's what CRS stands for. I feel better now.
Anyway, the plaque my mom sent arrived on the afternoon I arrived home after having a biopsy. Nothing to worry about, kind and concerned readers, just a precaution. As my gyno put it, I am forty-three. End of story. Hopefully, the end of story, but I am not that worried. Three other women I know around my age just had biopsies also (and were just fine) and I hate feeling left out. I’m such a conformist. Or rather my girlie parts are. Two years ago I had my left ovary removed. Which kinda sucks cuz now I lean a little to the right and I am a staunch Democratic. (badumpah).
So, during my doctor appointment, I actually used the phrase, “Hey, before you go spelunking in my uterus, I have a few questions” to my gynecologist. She liked that. My gynecologist is super cool, around my age, a woman, and has the same sense of humor as I do. It makes being spelunked in a bit easier to take. I thought it make a good title for my blog. Then I started thinking of all of the crap we go through and then the plaque arrived. And there ya go.
Yes, I just justified my blog. I had to. I couldn’t remember what the hell I was writing about. Now it makes sense. Well, it makes sense to me…
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