Tuesday, December 28, 2004
HMOs are fun, Gynos are not
Okay, so all you med school people, do me a favor: find the people studying to be gynocologists and tell them not to take that seminar about the necessity of insulting their patients. Apparently, it is not enough that when women go to the gyno we have to put on the paper dress and assume that awful position, since several different gynos in several different cities feel the need to insult their patients.
Example: The first time I went to the gyno, it was basically for shits and giggles, since I wasn't having sex. The Dr. says "Are you sexually active?" I say, "No." This seemed like a reasonable answer to me, but not only did he ask me a second time, I also got a lecture on all the reasons that being sexually active is bad. (Interestingly enough, the next time, I responded to the same question with a decisive "Yes" and skipped the lecture.) Other mildly tramatic things happen that we're skipping due to politeness, and then I fell off the examining table, but that was really my fault, I suppose. But it wouldn't have happened had I not been traumatized.
There's a much better story with the same basic message, but it isn't really mine, so I suppose I shouldn't tell it. And she didn't fall off the table.
So today, I go back to the gyno to request birth control that doesn't make me want to vomit (though I did find that the pills that make me want to vomit are extremely effective for preventing any thought of anything that might lead to babies). For a while I thought this was going to be a breeze, since the nurse told me that I didn't have to wear the paper dress. Yay! Apperently, if you've already had your yearly Pap Smear and all you want is drugs, you don't have to get naked. But all that was ruined. First, the doctor acts all offended that I'm not wearing the paper dress.I asked for the Ass-Patch of Birth Control. He suggested that I take pills that are also good for acne. Right. I would not have been offended, except for the fact that my skin has not looked as good as it did today since way before I went through puberty. No thanks. Give me the Ass Patch, fucker.
Am I over reacting? Probably. All I can say is that I'm glad that at least I was fully clothed. And thanks to my HMO, I'm on a nice cocktail of perscription drugs that should turn Canadia green. Including a patch on my ass.
Example: The first time I went to the gyno, it was basically for shits and giggles, since I wasn't having sex. The Dr. says "Are you sexually active?" I say, "No." This seemed like a reasonable answer to me, but not only did he ask me a second time, I also got a lecture on all the reasons that being sexually active is bad. (Interestingly enough, the next time, I responded to the same question with a decisive "Yes" and skipped the lecture.) Other mildly tramatic things happen that we're skipping due to politeness, and then I fell off the examining table, but that was really my fault, I suppose. But it wouldn't have happened had I not been traumatized.
There's a much better story with the same basic message, but it isn't really mine, so I suppose I shouldn't tell it. And she didn't fall off the table.
So today, I go back to the gyno to request birth control that doesn't make me want to vomit (though I did find that the pills that make me want to vomit are extremely effective for preventing any thought of anything that might lead to babies). For a while I thought this was going to be a breeze, since the nurse told me that I didn't have to wear the paper dress. Yay! Apperently, if you've already had your yearly Pap Smear and all you want is drugs, you don't have to get naked. But all that was ruined. First, the doctor acts all offended that I'm not wearing the paper dress.I asked for the Ass-Patch of Birth Control. He suggested that I take pills that are also good for acne. Right. I would not have been offended, except for the fact that my skin has not looked as good as it did today since way before I went through puberty. No thanks. Give me the Ass Patch, fucker.
Am I over reacting? Probably. All I can say is that I'm glad that at least I was fully clothed. And thanks to my HMO, I'm on a nice cocktail of perscription drugs that should turn Canadia green. Including a patch on my ass.
