A couple weeks ago I shared that I scheduled my yearly well-care visit complete with pap, cholesterol, sugar and blood pressure check. Doesn’t the mere mention of the word speculum make your blood pressure rise?
I decided to go to my general nurse practitioner instead of the gyno because it is so hard to get in to see him, and quite frankly, I’m not all that impressed with his bedside manner. The least he could do is thank me when he’s finished examining my cervix!
I was pleased with this year’s visit, but I was a little alarmed when the nurse ordered a pelvic ultrasound. I agreed to have one more person poke and prod me and forget to leave a tip on the nightstand. All was fine, until I got the news that test showed there may be the possibility of fibroid tumors.
I pretended not to be nervous and I immediately called my gynecologist, who of course couldn’t squeeze me in for two weeks, but I am nothing if not persistent. I still felt like a week was too long to wait, so I decided to make good use of my time – I got on the internet to conduct a little research. BIG MISTAKE!
Within 30 seconds of browsing WebMD, I diagnosed myself with fibroid tumors the size of softballs, o.k. basketballs. It amazed me how many symptoms I managed to exhibit that I didn’t know existed! I debated the course of treatment and argued with the doctor about the cons of a hysterectomy all before I even stepped into the office!
Somehow, I pulled my neurotic self off the internet and went straight for the snack cabinet. I really need to stop calling it the “snack cabinet” because the name is no longer appropriate. I used to have all kinds of tasty morsels in there from cookies to crackers to jumbo boxes of candy bars from Sam’s Club. Now about all that can be found is dry whole wheat macaroni, bran cereal and a three year supply of disposable chopsticks (don’t ask).
Since I couldn’t find proper binging food, I went straight to the next best coping mechanism – bitching at my family, almost as fun as eating! That worked quite nicely until Russell went to lacrosse camp and Lyle suddenly needed to work late.
I decided that maybe I needed to spend a little more time outdoors, which helped as I anxiously waited for the follow-up appointment with the specialist. Everything checked out just fine – no fibroids, or at least none that would equip any professional ball teams. The doctor assured me that everything was normal. Whew!
I think I need to spend some time looking for another gynecologist. I anticipate that there will be other “issues” that arise in the next few years – promising as it may be! This whole mess could have been avoided (at least one of the three pelvic exams could have been eliminated), had I just developed a trusting relationship with my doctor. Hey, I wonder if I can get a credit toward next year’s annual visit since three medical professionals looked at my Hoo-hah within the last two weeks.
