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Broke Wife, Big City
Fifty Shades of
Grey’s Anatomy
By Aprill Brandon
I have to go to the lady parts doctor today. I know, I know. Ew. Gross.
How dare I casually mention that I have a vagina! And on the Internet
to boot, where children might see it! While on their way to whatever
website 9-year-old’s are hanging out these days, which I’ll never find
out because I am ancient!
But just be glad you only have to read about it. I’m the one who
actually has to go and sit pants-less on hygienic demon paper for 37
minutes while Dr. Bony Fingers soaks her hands in dry ice before
beginning the examination.
As I’m sure you can tell, I am not looking forward to this particular
visit, fun though it is to have medieval-looking devices fiddling
around down there. In fact, you could say I’m downright nervous.
Now normally, being nervous before a doctor’s appointment, any doctor’s
appointment, is just par for the course for me. It’s one of my
oh-so-amusing quirks that would make me a great sidekick in a really
bad sitcom. Take going to the eye doctor. I dread going to the eye
doctor. I always feel like I’m failing all their tests, because unlike
all other doctor tests, the eye doctor INSISTS you participate.
“Can you read the first five lines of the chart, please?”
“Yeah…uh…E F P T O Z L P E D P um…another P…that’s a lot of P’s, man,
um…C T …O?...or maybe U?...Z D um, I have no idea so let’s go with P
again cause I’m assuming P’s are like the C’s of standardized tests in
the eye world, huh?...no?...um…Q? another Q? um…P…I failed, didn’t I?”
And if that weren’t bad enough, then they shove that giant machine in
your face and demand you make a series of high stakes, rapid-fire
decisions that will quite literally affect how you see the world for
the next year.
“Is this one clearer or that one?”
“Um…the first one?”
“OK. That one or that one?”
“I…I don’t know. The second one? Or, no! Wait! The first one! I think.
STOP PRESSURING ME!”
I am also not a big fan of going to the dentist.
“Have you been flossing?”
“…Yes?...”
“Every day?”
“…Sure…”
“Cause it doesn’t look like it.”
“Hey man, you don’t know my life!”
But the lady parts doctor is its own unique kind of clinical hell.
Let’s just put it this way, the biggest lie that has ever been told in
the history of the world is “you may feel a little pinch.”
But this time, the nervousness is slightly warranted. The reason I’m
having Dr. Lady McParts kick the tires and check under the ‘ol hood is
because my husband and I want to start trying to get pregnant again.
One, because my husband wants another child and two, and much more
importantly, I want a 9-month free pass to yell at everyone and eat
cheeseburgers for breakfast.
But I’ve been having some symptoms. Of what, you ask? I have no idea.
Nothing major, I’m optimistically assuming. Just a few things that made
me raise one eyebrow and go “huh.” But I can tell you that according to
Google, I am dying (because Google never looks at your symptoms and
says “Holy crap, you are almost TOO healthy!”). However, I thought a
second opinion was warranted before I drew up a will leaving all my
vast estate holdings to my son.
“It says here that when Riker comes of age, he shall inherit all his
mother’s back-issues of BUST magazine and her vintage ‘Drink More Wine’
t-shirt.”
I know it’s pointless to worry. But it’s also pointless to watch ‘Hart
of Dixie’ on Netflix and I can’t stop doing that either. (Oh, Lemon
Breeland, when will you learn?).
Because it’s not just my health at stake here, scary though that is. It
affects the future of my entire family. Whenever something is amiss in
that particular geographical region of your body and you are of a
certain age, your first thought is “Oh god, what if I can’t have more
children?” And generally, once that thought enters your head, you
realize with horror just how much you truly wanted another baby. And
how much your partner wants another baby. And how much your first-born
needs a sibling so he doesn’t have to deal with those future nursing
home “your mom bit a nurse again” phone calls alone.
And yes, we can adopt. And yes, we can be perfectly happy with just one
child (some people don’t even get that). And yes, we can bring home a
bunch of shelter dogs who can pitter-patter their little feet with the
best of ‘em.
All things my husband and I have been saying as a mantra the past
month.
And yet…
And yet.
Wish me luck.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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