The Yearly

So,

It’s that time again. The Yearly exam dreaded by ladies all over. Men, your probably don’t want to read this.

This year, I opted to see the nurse practitioner because I didn’t feel like hearing my old, white man doctor tell me, for the 4th year in a row, that he thinks I’m fat.

So many things about The Yearly are just so awkward.

First of all, is anyone actually good at peeing in a cup? I mean, seriously. That is an awkward stance that requires a bit of flexibility and a helluva lot of aim. And then, when you end up peeing on your hand (it’s inevitable), do you take the girlie route and freak out or do you act like a boy scout and talk about how sterile urine is?

Then, there’s the weigh in. My allergist has a digital scale so it’s quick and painless, but at the gyno’s office, they have an old school scale, and a twig weighed me. Don’t you love the feeling of watching them scoot that thing over to the right and over some more… and then some more.

This year, the breast examination was intense. Normally, it’s a rough grab and go. But the NP spent like 10 minutes a lady. Honestly, I feel like massage therapists should consider incorporating whatever she did into full body massages. She did not mess around.

And it ended (finally), with the… well yeah.

I think part of The Yearly should be a date before the appointment because damn. Certainly made an interesting birthday gift.

H, out.

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