I don't understand why so many people try to maintain their dignity when they visit the doctor, or worse, end up in the hospital. I've been to both enough times to know to check my dignity at the door and just go with the flow. No matter how repulsive you think your face or body is, these people have seen far worse. No matter how ghostly pale, fat and hairy your legs are, and I use my own legs as an example there, somebody else's tops them on the disgusto-meter. So let that paper robe show your butt! Flash it to the other patients as you pass their rooms during your daily constitutional! Most of them are too drugged up to remember the experience, anyway!
There's already something wrong with your body if you're in the hospital, so I say, let the staff do their jobs. Last time I was in the hospital, these were my orders from the doctor: walking and eating solid foods were allowed. Sitting up was not. Not for a second did she want me on my ass, so imagine me either lying flat on my back, or vertical. By the way, when you get home, have some fun and try to go straight from totally horizontal to totally vertical without sitting down in between. Not right now, but at home... please! Anyway, this limited my abilities to take care of myself. Did I care? No! If it needed to be done, I called the nurse. "Somebody needs to wipe my butt!" "Nurse, I have soiled myself! That's right, the catheter was overwhelmed! Bring me your finest April fresh scented linens!"
I don't pretend to be dignified when I visit a doctor's office, either. Granted, putting on their stupid gowns is annoying, but I won't speak doctor speak. I could probably do better than most these days thanks to my exposure to the medical community, but as far as I'm concerned, I had a visit with a Boob Doctor, not a plastic surgeon. I mean, besides noses, what else do these guys usually tinker with? Tits! They're too small, they're too big, they WERE too big, but now I've gained weight and now I need the implants out... They've heard it all. So I made an appointment to see the boob doctor. "Purpose of visit" asks the paperwork. "Reduction" "Reduction" on every page, every side, every bit of paperwork they give me. The doctor comes in, I'm in the flimsy gown that I can barely even close in the front, and says, "So what can I do for you?" No lie, I wanted to flash the guy and say, "I dunno, do you think getting rid of THESE was on my mind?" Instead I said, and this, too, is no lie: "I have big gazongas."
His reply? "I see." Then later: "Would you mind if I took a look at your gazongas?" My sister thinks I'm lying, but HE SAID THAT. And why not? He was just using my own medical jargon. He's a doctor! He's heard every kind of way to describe this problem. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he got impatient with the people to shy to even say it. "Oooo, doctor, you see I'm just not comfortable with the size of my heh-heh, heh-heh, ahem, heh-heh, oh, well, you see, my shoulders and my neck are so sore all the time, and I think it might possibly be because of-"
"Your humongous hooters, ma'am, I'm aware of their voluminous presence, thank you." No matter how oversized you think you are, he's seen the Guinness Book record holders. No matter how tiny you think you are, those mosquito bites you're so embarassed about, he's seen... mild rashes. No elevation whatsoever. CANYONS, even. So go for broke, I say. Pretend you're white trash when you're in their office. Guests even Jerry Springer won't book.
"Doctor, I swear, I just can't see over these monsters! My SUV tilts over and rides on two wheels when I drive. Demolition crews hire me to jog around their buildings to loosen up the foundation. My bra lets out an audible moan of pain when I remove it for the day. I beat a mugger to death by doing the Twist. We no longer need a can opener at home to open our food. My coworkers call me Quasimodo, Director of Accoustics. My husband rolled over twice after having sex and was still on me. Is it clear to you now that I'm requesting a little work to be done in my front area?"
But don't think that I'm some kind of hypochondriac who gets off on hospitals. No; I don't want to be there any more than you do. Most of you, anyway. I dunno, maybe some of you are like hospital groupies or something. But if, like me, you've ever needed to be held up by a middle-aged male nurse so you could kind of hover over a toilet seat, only to MISS that toilet seat and plop your business onto the floor and the toilet rim, not to mention piss all over your legs because you're facing the wrong way, and almost lose consciousness from the experience - remember - not allowed to sit down! - then NOTHING is too embarassing or undignified for you. The Pope could walk in on me picking my nose and fixing my bra, and I could just laugh it off. He's not supposed to care about boobs, anyway, so what the hell is he staring at??
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