Saturday, October 24, 2009

The D, The OB/GYN, and All Sorts of Other Acronyms

With a title like that, I'm sure you have high expectations. I hope not to disappoint.

Last night, on the way to a The Hounds Below concert, Corey and I hit a BIG-ASS POTHOLE thanks to the oh-so well-maintained City of Detroit. Why, thank you, City Council! While you are busy fighting billboards for local radio stations and cheap beer, your city is a fast-deteriorating ghetto with derelict buildings, disobeyed traffic laws and crumbling roads that make people's tires all flat and junk. (By the way, check out the horrendous reporting on that 89X billboard article. Quoting Facebook? Are you kidding me?)

Luckily, with the help of the dude in the parking garage at the Detroit Institute of Arts (Thanks again for the screwdriver, buddy! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!), a very helpful black Michigan State graduate couple (and the woman's father over the phone), a dude with a well-stocked toolbox that was fixing his own tire after hitting the very same Godforsaken pothole, and even a drunken homeless guy that tried to remove the imaginary lugnuts (that we'd already removed), we fixed it....but we missed the whole show.

An extra thanks goes out to all the snooty white people leaving the DIA that drove past us as we struggled, my dad who called to berate me and remind me how dangerous Detroit is at night as I tried to explain what was happening, my mom for not leaving the concert to bother helping us, but still proceeding to call every five effing seconds (just enough to harrass and hinder us in our efforts), aaaaand the Detroit City Police who told us to call AAA for a tow truck. For a flat tire. Seriously.

Anyway, the invisible-until-it's-too-late pohole is located in the left lane Southbound on Woodward Avenue between Palmore and Ferris and it is a fucking doozy, so be careful out there, people.

I made my first appointment for the Girly Doctor the other day and there are people out there yelling at me, "It's about damn time! I'm pretty sure if you waited just a little longer, your uterus would implode!" Seriously, people act like if I feel fine, but I don't go see an expert to tell me that I'm fine, I have some hidden, symptom-less, life-threatening disease.

Please, people. My STD slate is clean.

The only reason I've finally broken down after four years of denying strangers' hands up in my business (Sounds pretty logical when I say it that way, huh? Doesn't seem like I am at all unreasonable. WHO'S BEING A BABY NOW?) is that my cramps are debilitating. My lower abdomen is crying--nay--SCREAMING, "Uncle!" and I am waving my white flag.

Fine lady, put on your rubber gloves and knock yourself out. Just don't prescribe me Yaz because heart disease already runs in my family.Oh, and Breast Cancer. And Diabetes. And ADHD. Fuck! Maybe I should have gone in sooner.

Oh well, too late now.

Anyway, any girl I talk to is all, "Oh, it's really not that bad. It's not the most comfortable thing ever, but it's not that bad." Seriously, like three women have said that to me. Verbatim. But you know what? I'm still petrified that it IS that bad. How can somebody sticking their hands all up inside you be good?...Don't answer that.

I'm just afraid it's going to end like this (click the picture, genius):

So here's the deal, lady. I'll answer your questions (Last period? Sometime last month, lady. I don't keep much track. Smoke? Once. It hurt my throat and I coughed and everyone made fun of me so I never did it again. Oh, you mean regularly? No. Sexually active? Lady, these questions are getting a little personal, here. How about you tell me something about yourself so we can get to know eachother first. Sexually active? ...Yes. God, lady! How do you do it? I just wanna tell my life to you! I...I wanna spend my life with you. Oh, you're kicking me out? Okay, see ya!), you'll write down your notes so you and the nurses can giggle later, you'll give me drugs, and you keep your hands where I can see them as long as you possibly can. Let's keep the touching minimal unless you're buying me dinner first.

Then, we'll talk.



  1. It's not quite like that picture. you should be facing the other way, with your legs propped up. if that makes you feel any better.

  2. So, when I went to the girly doc, my doc was a GUY. He was gay, but thats besides the point. And they let my boyfriend stay in the room THE WHOLE TIME with me. But it was still scary.

  3. Katie,

    Click the picture. It gets so much better! And thank you, I am also sorry about the flat.

    Sam (?),

    I. Am. So. Scared.

  4. the only thing worse than going is running out naked. DO NOT DO THAT. then, after, you can call me and we can do ob/gyn shots and hate our lives together.