The doctor will see you now

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The post where I talk about my vagina

** disclaimer, I will be mentioning my menstrual cycle in this post.   If you are a dude and/or related to me, you may want to opt out.  You’ve been warned, I don’t want to hear about how I’ve scarred you for life. **

It’s such a pleasure to introduce your lady parts to new friends.  I mean, everybody’s crotch needs a fan club.  I haven’t been in to see my fan club in ages.   If you’re really lucky, and I am nothing if not really lucky, your new fan club will have at least one nervous male medical student.   Should your doctor actually blush when he asks about your menstrual cycle?    He was young enough that I felt compelled to remind him bedtime is promptly at 7:30 because learning to be a doctor is hard work and he needs his shut-eye.   I’m not shy, having broken my vagina twice while in labor at teaching hospitals, I’m pretty well prepared for everyone to keep close tabs on my nether regions while I’m in the room.  I’m the queen of making jokes to break up the tension, but doctors are the worst audience, all business and stirrups and metal torture devices that look oddly like duck bills.  

I have a pretty impressive medical history from the last 5 years, much of which involves me doing a lot of research and being my own best guinea pig.  I spent endless hours researching to figure out that Gluten, Dairy, Eggs, Alcohol, and processed sugar were making my life fall apart.   I can hear the thoughts in your head,  “those things are exactly the necessary ingredients to a good girls night”.   I know!   Trust me, I understand that the best things in life are served on bread,  baked into a cake and lifted in a toast.    

Today’s appointment was a reminder of who I was and how I felt 5 years ago, the difference is night and day.    It’s like how you never realize your kid has grown 2 inches over the summer until they try on those adorable pants you bought at Target, the ones they only wore once, just to find they’ve turned into capris.    My new doctor made a point to say that she practiced “evidence-based” medicine, and didn’t know much about the things I had used to heal myself. At first I was offended, was she saying I wasn’t “evidence” that what I did worked?  But I quickly realized she was setting some important boundaries for what I could realistically expect from her.   I’ve learned a lot about expectations over the last several years, setting a high bar can really push you forward, but being unrealistic can lead to pretty steep disappointment.   

I expected that pushing my party people into this world would make me a soft, gentle soul.  If you know me in real life you know I’m always loud, often inappropriate and generally funny.  I’m more Peggy Bundy, not at all June Cleaver.   For some reason, I thought I would be a better Mom if I pretended to be someone I was not.   I’m sure we all know how that story ends, if shame and guilt were Olympic sports I would be a 5-time gold medalist.   These days I set some pretty solid boundaries, I’m me and I plan to be kick ass at what comes naturally.   If anyone needs a kid shouted at or tickled mercilessly, give me a ring.                            

In case you’ve been wondering, my vagina (picture it waving to its internet friends), looks great.    It’s like that Betty White quote “Why do people say “grow some balls”?  Balls are weak and sensitive.  If you wanna be tough, grow a vagina.  Those things can take a pounding”.