Breasts, No No's and Heinies

At 56 years old, and three children under my belt I am neither embarrassed nor awkward during my annual spread-eagle exam. I love my Dr, which makes a great deal of difference; and to be blunt, if the nurse or my Dr. see something on me that is different than the thousands of butt, breasts and no no's that they have seen, I'm screwed anyway so who cares.

My gynie is semi retired and only sees us old girls. No more babies for him, nope just us post menopausal beauties.   He wears suspenders with his flannel shirt, always takes time for questions in his office after the exam, and never seems rushed. 

Most of the women I work with go to him and we are forbidding him from retiring completely.  Maybe I should send his wife a note informing her of this decision.

Over the years I have had my share of Gynies tell me I'm fat (Like I really, hadn't noticed) while I was laying naked on that stupid table with my legs swung up over my shoulders.  I'm sorry, but couldn't he wait until I at least closed my legs, or better yet, had my clothes back on.  Why wait till I was in a position that resembled an upside down umbrella holder.  I mean really.  I also had a Dr. tell me that my who who was deep (yup, deep). I was 15 or 16 at the time and at a Planned Parent Hood office.


There he sat, in his catcher's position between my legs (at this age I was mortified and he literally had to pry my knees open with the help of a nurse) and as he was rummaging around in there he proceeded to tell me that I have a "deep one".

What the hell does that mean? Is that good? Is it bad? Should I apply for a movie in the next porn film that comes my way? I have no idea. All I know is that moment I wanted to crawl in a hole and die;  (no pun intended) with my deep one, of course.

My latest exam proved interesting as well.  As my Dr. was starting the examination with the jaws of death as my daughter calls them (explanation to follow) he was having trouble opening my cervix. Now, my breasts started to mutiny years ago. Sagging, swaying and swinging by my waist every time I walk. But my cervix, now this was just too much to handle. I swear he needed forceps to pry that sucker open so he could take what he needed for the test.

When he was finally finished, he assured me all was well; I then assured him it was sealed shut because it had died many many years ago.  Remember the great Kong attempt? Exactly! Need I say more?

OK, back to the jaws of death. When I took my daughter for the first time for her examination, I explained it all to her, except that is, THE JAWS OF DEATH. I can almost hear the theme from Jaws whenever I say that.

She was frightened and unsure, as we all are on our first visit, but I promised her it would be OK and I proceeded to park myself in the waiting room and worry.  This is my child that at the age of 13 was hit with bipolar.  To say this appointment was stressful for both of us is an understatement.

Suffice it to say, the exam went well, but as soon as we got into the car, a look of horror came over her face as she screamed at me "Why didn't you tell me about the jaws of death". I had to be honest, I just didn't think she would go if I had.

Well, my exam is over once again for the year; I'll wait for the result of my pap test and then off I will go to my least favorite of womanly duties as far as our health is concerned. THE MAMMOGRAM!!! da da da daaaaa

I guarantee you that a man invented this machine.  You can bet your ass he would have redesigned it if he had to put his balls in there for a hernia test. 

Once again, I digress.

How such a big mass of flesh can be smashed to within a micro fraction of an inch I will never understand. You would think that the force of the hydraulic crusher would be enough to kill all your nerve endings and your blood vessels. I don't know how it doesn't and to be honest, I don't want to.

I have only looked at the result of the crushing machine once and thought I would faint.  I won't look again.  I can see it now, fainting with my breast clamped between two metal plates.  I would be left limply hanging there making my one boob hang lower than it already does. 

Makes me shudder.

But there again you have to stand there, letting the technician lift, move and manipulate you breast; all the while in the back of your mind you know what is coming.

Hold still, don't breath, this will only take a second. Second my ass. As the firm metal plate descends slowly, all you can do is wait. 

No one told me about this pain when  I first went.  Now I know why; like my daughter and the jaws of death, I would not have gone. Bite me, I'll take my chances.

I have been told that the smaller chested woman feels more pain the the giant tatas that I carry around.  At least with a large breasted woman, there is something to put there. Kind of like a blob of pizza dough slapped down on the counter. 

With a small breasted woman, they have to pull whatever is there and try to smash something, as little as it may be. 

After imagining that, I think I'll stick with what I have; not that I have a choice though do I?

Have I mentioned that I had my first colonoscopy?  I was surprised to find that that was the easiest of all the tests we need to go through as we get older.

I wish I had known that from the start.  I was in an utter state of panic over this test.  Oh, I knew you had to drink this awful stuff that made you go to the bathroom for 12 hours straight and that you could only drink clear liquids.  Bad enough, but I managed to get through that just fine. 

It was how they did that test that scared me, and boy was I wrong about this procedure. 

Had I known that I would be lying flat on my back, covered with a sheet when they put me under I would have gone into that procedure room ready, willing and able. 

But, because I'm and idiot and keep forgetting that fact, I thought that I would be lying on my stomach and that the table would be hinged in the middle.  It was my understanding that the table would be turned on to bend in the middle with my rump rising up like the morning sun. 

I would look like a giant upside down V.  Ass eye level for the Dr. to do his roto rooter magic.  When the procedure was done, I assumed the table would close, leaving me flat on my stomach again.

Talk about being a mess about this.  I mean maybe if I were thin, but to be overweight and have my ass shot up like that was making me crazy. 

Finally, I asked one of the guys I work with about it and he was nice enough to tell me the truth and not lead me on thinking the wrong thing about the procedure.

So, as I lay in wait to be put under, I quietly told the nurse that I was embarrassed due to my weight and she assured me that they were all professionals in the room and that it was a life-saving test; not to worry. 

As the technician started the drip to put me under, I could swear I could hear the faint sound of laughter.  God help me and my imagination.

So, I've lived to have my breasts, crotch and ass all looked at, felt up and probed. 

I'm healthy, happy and cleaned out.

What could be better?

If only I could be that comfortable showing my feet..