I returned to the gynocologist yesterday to discuss my plumbing issues. He was totally cool with me not wanting to have my muffler removed via my tailpipe. So we’re going for plan B: something called a Mirena, combined with a “wait and see” approach.
The Mirena is a type of IUD that releases hormones into your uterus. It can help with the sort of issues I’m having down there.
I feel sooooooooo much better about getting the Mirena, even though the gyno is worried he won’t be able to insert it without a general anaesthetic due to me having a virgin cervix that hasn’t squeezed a baby out.
As I texted to a friend: “Went back to gyno – am getting IUD thingy instead of surgery!! Booked for insertion next Friday. No exclamation marks after that bit because apparently it hurts.”
Since I was paying $100 to make a return visit to the gyno, I decided to get my money’s worth and made him examine the lumps the bikini waxer discovered in my groin recently.
Turns out there’s nothing to worry about because they’re just “necrotic fat deposits.” Now, doesn’t that sound sexy? Yep, there are bits of dead fat are floating around in my nethers. I really should put that in my RSVP profile – my “kisses” will skyrocket.
I shoot the breeze with EVERYONE these days so, after I’d shimmied off the gyno’s examination table, we started discussing my job. And the gyno admitted he’d Googled me after my last visit, following my suggestion he read a story I’d written about Lara Bingle (and her amazing boobs). I told him Googling me had taken on a whole new dimension in the past week due to the phrase “triceratops sex position.”
I explained the coincidence of me blogging about dinosaur porn last year and how it had brought me to the top of the Google search algorithm after the TV show Blackish referred to a sex act modelled on a certain three-horned fossil.
The gyno confessed he had no idea about the triceratops sex position, despite tending to lady bits for a living.
I told him it involved three blokes and one chick … and he still looked blank. I suggested he think about it for while. I’m sure it will come to him eventually.
Much explosive laughter accompanied the whole discussion, which I figure probably either made all the women in the waiting room very nervous or reassured them that it wasn’t all forceps and horror on the other side of the door.
Afterwards, I headed to the chemist to get my Mirena. It’s funny that at age 46 you can still feel squirmy about buying things like condoms and birth control apparatus. The Mirena comes in the most ENORMOUS box, like it’s deliberately trying to embarrass you publicly. I wanted to wave a sign around saying “I’m getting it for MEDICAL purposes everyone!”
And now comes the anxious wait for the insertion next Friday. Knowing me, I’ll be sure to give you the full rundown … possibly a blog my male followers should avoid next Saturday …
Song of the day: Madonna “Like a virgin”