Truths: THE Annual

So, I was getting ready for my big annual gyne exam by plucking the two wirery hairs from my chin that appear every now and then as a reminder that I am 40. I did a few other hygienic things to prepare for the appointment but no need to go there…

This appointment is a big one for me – because in the 20 or so years I have been going to the gyne – I have had nearly as many doctors. I mean lets be honest – it is a pretty personal experience and if you aren’t comfortable with your doctor – well, the horridness of it is just made worse.

Now, I have had good doctors here and there. The man who delivered Abby was great and a few others in that practice when I was in my late 20’s but they all left the practice one by one and eventually, I did too.

I googled and asked friends for references and ended up in a newer practice with a woman doctor some of my friends raved about. I went there a few times but I just never felt like I connected with her. And, so, I ended up not going back and let the annual exam become more like an every two or so years exam – and that time was now.

This might or might not be funny… but as my dad’s cousin and her daughter were standing over my grandma’s bed when she was in a coma in hospice – somehow the conversation led us to gyne’s. And, they both raved about the doctor they went to. I figured I would give it a try.

So, that was May and by September I decided to make an appointment which ended up being yesterday.

It was an hour to get there and, yes, I was nervous. I had a lot to talk about as I enter this stage of menopause and all the crap that goes with it – not to mention the harsh fact that I would be exposing myself to someone I never even met before as I blubber through my hot flashes and painful periods and rampant yeast infections.

It is times like these that I am assured God is a man.

It was an easy drive and though it was near the city – it was a stand alone building with its own parking lot – that helped. (often, it’s the little things).

But what took me by total surprise was when I walked in the building. Huge, comfy sofas encompassed a lit fire in the beautiful stone fireplace. Warm, hip painted walls – wood floors and a flat screen TV – it was as though I walked into a dear friend’s newly decorated loft. If I just had a glass of wine or a beer in my hand – I would have never left.

However, I have been down this road before so I knew better than to let a comfy couch and a saltwater fish tank mask the reality of what was next.

Soon, I found myself walking to the bathroom to pee in a cup – but the surroundings continued. Cherry trim, warm soothing colors, décor from Pottery Barn- it didn’t stop. Hell, I almost forgot to pee in the cup as I gazed at the artwork!

But, the real test would come later – anyone can have a pretty office.

The actual exam room certainly was appointed by the same interior designer. Beautiful furniture, classy stainless bar sink, wicker chairs, low, soft lighting. I mean if it wasn’t for the exam table, the room could have graced the pages of a decorating magazine.

The nurse was new and very kind as she went through my history- which when you hit 40 is rather long and when we were done – I got to get naked and prepared for the paper towel they have you wear. But, who am I kidding – there wasn’t going to be any paper towel for me to wear. It was a real gown – a nice gown in a lovely maroon fabric that actually made me feel like I was in my PJ’s not trying to cover my entire body with a tissue.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, the doctor came in. And in an instant I knew I had finally met my match. She was dressed to the nines in a cool dress, fashionable shoes and funky jewelry that I would wear. She smiled and introduced herself and immediately sat down so we could “talk.”

I really felt like I was sitting with Addison Montgomery on Private Practice. She was that good.

And, we DID talk… really talk. She never got up or acted like she had better things to do. She offered her own life experiences and laughed about what it is like to be menopausal. She got it and she understood and most of all, she was listening to me.

I had a lot of things I wanted to talk about and she wanted to hear about each one of them. She never rushed through issues and I felt like I had known her my whole life. I didn’t feel embarrassed or uncomfortable and EVERYTHING I needed to talk about was said and she had knowledgeable, caring answers for it all.

The exam itself was remarkably fast: she talked about life and we laughed and by the time the story was over – I was done and I didn’t even know it.

The nurse came to take some blood and the doctor came back to talk a little after I was dressed and when it was all said and done she hugged me and said it was nice to meet me. And, it wasn’t a fake hug – it was an endearing hug and I hugged her back.

The whole way home I smiled because for the first time in 20 years I felt like I met a gyne who got me – who enjoyed what she did and wanted me to feel comfortable talking about things that are usually embarrassing.

I also spent time in the car re-thinking how old I am because when I left the comfy sofas and warm fireplace I left with a bag full of literature on all the tests I had to schedule: bladder diagnosis, mammogram, bone density, and an ultrasound to look at my ovaries. Not to mention some drugs to ease the constant PMS I suffer as I go through this life changing thing called menopause.

I might be falling apart – but for the first time in 40 years I finally found a doctor who made falling apart okay. In fact, I look forward to going back to talking with her and waiting on the amazingly cuddly sofa and facing the rest of crap I am about to go through because I trust that she will care about me. And, maybe, just maybe – I will bring my own beer.