It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 69

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or people I work with. Or neighbors who are raising feral cats.




Today’s topic: An Extra Pap in My Step

DISCLAIMER:  Remember, this whole "Oh I'm Going To Blog Every Day" business is about quantity, not quality.  As long as we are all clear.  Are we good?  Good.  Carry on, then.

Earlier this week I mentioned that I had a pap smear.  I know how much fun it is for everyone to read about my personal doctor's visits, so I'm going to elaborate on it.  Of course, by reading further, you are agreeing to the contract that you will not let your child under the age of 20 read this or share the information in this blog with your child, particularly if you live in my area.  If you do, I will be forced to name you in my blog, and gut you like a fish.  Because I live in Mayberry and I WILL find out.  Fun!

So of course, Poor CH did not get lucky earlier this week, because you know how sex messes with your junk, and I for one cannot go giddyup in the stirrups and have the doctor going, "Do you have any questions for me?" and be thinking, "I can't believe you showed up here with your scrambled-ass vagina and expect me to take you seriously, you ho-bag."  My appointment was on Tuesday, so CH was thinking Tuesday Night is THE Night!  Poor CH.

I showed up and did the weigh-in.  I was feeling good about the scale because I had a wellness check at work about three weeks ago and the scale showed me some love and said I weighed 152.  This scale was an asshole and said I weighed 161!  Seriously people, I gained 9 pounds in three weeks.  Ice cream, you're going to have to start seeing other people.  However, I'm pretty certain I drank at least 8 pounds of coffee for breakfast and my blood is rich with iron, which we all know is quite heavy.  That's science, people.

I made my way to the exam room and was reading a lovely article about Kyra Sedgewick when the doctor walked in.  I must have looked like I was really into the article, because she gently took it out of my hands and put it back in the magazine rack.  Isn't that MY job?  Although I was in the open-front pink paper bolero jacket with a small paper napkin covering my lady cave, so I suppose she was being helpful.  She started with what is probably a standard question, but I got right on it.

DR:  "Do you have any questions or concerns?"
ME:  "I am SO done having kids.  I want Mirena or Essure.  When can we do this?"
DR:  "Um...okay...well, are you sure you're done having kids?"
ME:  "I never want another baby again.  I have one going to college in four years.  I'm not going back.  If, God Forbid, my husband should die and I married someone else, I would NOT be like 'I want your baby', I would say, 'Let's go to London!' I have three great kids, I don't want to break that streak.  I. AM. DONE.  I'm not always even into having sex because I think I MIGHT get pregnant.  And I have a rash on my chest.  It might be from a fear of pregnancy."
DR:  (Looks panicky and laughs nervously.)  "Okay.  Well, you are very sure - maybe one of the surest people I've spoken with.  Not everyone is.  I think both options are great.  Mirena gets you a metal T-shaped IUD and you don't really have periods, but there are slight risks of uterine tearing, and I've had one of those happen.  There have been a few pregnancies on Mirena.  Essure is permanent and for that we put metal coils in your tubes and then scar tissue grows over them, sealing off your tubes forever.  Then we put contrast dye in your uterus and take an x-ray to see if any dye gets through.  If it doesn't, you're good to go."

This all sounds like a LOT of stuff going into my vagina.  Had I been aware there was so much room in there for all of these items, I might have saved the money on a safe and put everyone's birth certificates and social security cards in there.  I'm going to think about my options, and then after careful consideration, I'm going to see which one is cheaper with my insurance and go that way.

She then asked about my chesty rash.  I flashed her, and she prescribed a cream.  Because NOTHING makes a woman feel sexier than having a rash all over her chest.  It's probably what's kept me from getting knocked up lately.

We did the other standard things a doctor and a woman do in the privacy of their stirrups, and she signed me up for a mammogram.  Great.  I might as well schedule TWO appointments, because I have YET to have a mammogram without having to do a follow-up ultrasound for something suspicious.  Longtime readers might remember my last one, when I had to go back only for them to discover that the skin on my breast had doubled over on itself and created a dark area on the scan.  Super.  My girls are so tired they can actually fold over on themselves like an origami pelican DURING a mammogram.  Jealous?

It all ended well, we agreed to continue seeing each other, and I'm going back for sterilization.  And THAT is what's putting an extra pap in my step.

Happy Whoreticulture Friday!  See you tomorrow!