Womb With A View

A gruelling day which found me strapped into a stirrupy contraption (and not the equestrian kind) with a strategically placed paper towel which I assume was intended to protect my dignity regardless of the fact I could have been mistaken me for a christmas turkey awaiting the removal of it’s giblets. It wasn’t a day I was looking forward to and, having two months advance notice of the appointment gave me plenty of time to worry that, what was most probably a post-Chickie hormone imbalance, had developed into something terminal.

I did have the nicest nurse in the world though who gave me a copy of “Yours” to flick through whilst I waited and held my sweaty hand through the ‘Womb’ movie. Whilst loving her for her warmth and kindness, I was slightly concerned that she had selected the equivalent of ‘Geriatric Weekly’ for me to peruse. It wasn’t the indepth articles on knitting, Senior Moments, Legal Concerns and Fashion during the National Service years that distracted me from my impending violation so much as the wondering whether I looked like the kind of thirty year old that would enjoy reading Rod Hull’s column.

Despite my Doctor having all the charm of a yeast infection and pulling concerned brow furrows throughout the examination, me and my nurse got through the ordeal by enjoying a witty repartee about how much women suffer compared to men. Despite his ‘ooh, that’s not good’ expressions as viewed from between my knocking knees, it turns out that it was just the hormone imbalance anticipated, leaving me free to worry about all the other symptoms I had relegated to the hypochondria backburner.

Whilst having access to a gynaecologist, albeit a very serious one, I thought it would be an excellent opportunity to share my concerns about childbirth and gain the reassurance that, should I ever change my mind and have another, everything would be just peachy second time around. Really, I should have known better based on the bedside manner exhibited thus far but, no, I plunged ahead regardless. Upshot is, not having another child ever. Reassurance wasn’t really his thing. He was more of a bleak and scary medical fact based kind of guy.

P.S. Sorry for my recent bloglessness, set top box suffered a dramatically named 'fatal' error leaving me without tv or internet. The worst part was being forced to converse with Accountant by way of entertainment.