Thursday, September 17, 2009

feel me up, feel me down

If you have a Y chromosone, this post maybe slightly uncomfortable for you. Fair warning - this post will discuss hormones, gynecology and yes, the dreaded menopause. By this sentence almost all the guys have moved on to manlier blogs about manly things like chest waxing and the proper way to readjust a penis in public.

On Monday, I went to see my new gynecologist. I was not looking forward to it. I hate going, so much so I hadn't been in more than 4 years. (Yes, I know, that's bad, bad, bad) I picked the new place because they have a birthing center that uses all kind of cool stuff like pools, massages, spa bathrooms and what not. No, I don't need a birthing center. I just like the way they approach gynecology. There is no Dr. So and So, it's this is CeCe. I figure if a woman is going to stick things up my hoohah, I should at least be on a first name basis with her. It's also the first gynecological office to ever ask if I sleep with men, women, or BOTH. It has a happy granola feeling to it.

So I met CeCe. She was a big woman, warm and kind, she reminded me of my mother. We discussed my medical history. She congratulated me for fighting with my doctor to do a VBAC after two Csections and being told I was "too small" to ever pop a kid out of my bajinga. Then it was time for her to pop out while I put on the oh so flattering hospital gown and arranged a paper blanket on my lap.

Cece returned and felt my boobies. Good news there, nothing but fat. Finally, I slid down and let Cece play "find the cervix." It only took her two tries. My last gyne needed 4 minimum. I have an extremely high cervix apparently. My old gyne used to laugh about how hard it was to do my pap smears while I writhed in pain. Cece apologized to me and seemed genuinely upset I was not having a happy fun time. Then she left me with my shame.

So, after I redressed, Cece came back in and gave me the preliminary verdict. Either I am entering perimenopause (yippie more Hormone induced mood swings!) or my thyroid is screwed up. I'm not sure which to root for. And yes, I just ended that sentence with a preposition.


  1. Crappy, man. I'm sorry. I know all about thyroid issues (can you say postpartum thyroiditis 35 times fast?)(would you want to?)(me either).

    If it's your thyroid, let me know. I'll pass the synthroid your way.

  2. Well written with a great attention to detail.
    You really made me cringe at times.

    I do not regret not being born a woman. Gynecological exams are not for me. I do however, enjoy wearing a dress from time to time.