Talk to me please, but not through a curtain

One of the things that bothers me about health care practices is that they assume we as the consumer are too dumb to hear what they are saying. To understand what they are saying. Friday, I had enough. Doctors and nurses are talking about my procedure (and let us call it what it was, surgery) and my vagina like most people talk about ordering take out. Except? It is on the other side of the curtain. So I can hear the lowered voices, the mumbles but not actual talk. And I started to get mad. My vagina and I are pretty close, we talk often and I want to know what is being said about her. I want to protect her.

My doctor was taken by surprise, but then came around the curtain. And explained everything he should have been doing in the first place. I am not a dumb woman, and I understood. I didn’t get scared. I got less scared having full knowledge.

I think it is time we all adapted this policy. Because through the curtain doesn’t cut it for me and it shouldn’t you either.

I’m all about the causes folks

Read this post for understanding. My va-jay-jay is too tired to explain it.

Am I still a woman?

Self deprecating humor is generally how I handle things. Laugh at myself, make you laugh, and walk away like nothing happened. Someone has to laugh at my inability to wear white without staining it, inability to have anything but a diaper in my purse if you need a napkin, and my UTTER inability to NOT say anything if you have a bugger that needs taken care of.

The nurse that called this time didn’t think I was so funny. Apparently, you are supposed to be very serious when being called to the white room of fondling. Apparently, you are not supposed to ask if the doctor has found your missing keys while he has the speculum up to your neck. Apparently, you are not supposed to ask if there is a frequent flier miles for having a procedure three times in two years. “They” are very serious, while I am left on a table with a wash cloth for a skirt and my dignity has been asked to sit out in the waiting room.

I also laughed when the scheduling nurse told me to appear at the hospital at 5 AM, wearing no make up or jewelry. “You honestly want to see the real me at that early in the morning? What if there is a cute doctor, how am I supposed to react?”. Oh wait, he’ll see my ass hanging out of the gown that is barely there and laugh.

This will be my final procedure to take care of a cervical cancer that has decided to befriend me. If it comes back again, I will have a hysterectomy and never have to worry about girly things again.

Yet? I don’t have a gallbladder, an appendix, 1/3 of my liver and I have more titanium in my face than NASA. Even I am finding it hard to joke about loosing something that might be the only thing keeping me in the female race. I have lost enough.

Where have I been?

Here! There! Everywhere! (Ok I promise to quit using exclaimation points by the end of this post. Moving is fun, and when you do two moves in 2 months? Twice as much fun. (Yes it is, shut up in the back row.) The baby has adjusted well, I have realized I need to quit calling him the baby since he is 2 going on 86. Seriously? He has no sense of time, and that mom has to get there quick or the hall monitor’s will give her a ticket.

I’m tired. But Good!

Here’s a picture to hold you over, I have stories of me crossing three state lines in 2 days. You want to hear those right?!

My life, best described in a photo