As I sit trying to compose some sort of a post, a feat I have failed to do in too many days, I am both inspired and hindered by my throbbing arms. My upper limbs aren’t the only parts of my body currently in discomfort but I’ve learned that’s what you get when you pass through the threshold from almost old into old and risk your life as well as portions of your virginity by getting a well woman exam.

Back in the (pre-35) good old days, I used to think the worst part of a physical exam was hopping on the scale. I actually gave myself a mental pat on the back for not sweating that part this morning. However, that feeling soon left me as I almost took more than one human life on the way to my 9am appointment due to the lack of caffeine in my body. I arrived looking and feeling like a zombie but not really nervous – just anxious to get my big girl duties behind me and proceed directly to a Starbucks.

My name was called just as I began dozing off to CNN in the waiting room. I thought I had sleep in my eyes when the nurse started giving me the usual litany of instructions.

“Stand on the scale.
Stick this under your tongue.
Pee in a cup.
Give me your arm.
Take off your clothes.”

She talked the talk but I could have sworn that Haley, my nurse who was getting way too personal way too fast, was no more than 19 years old. And what’s worse than a size 2, porcelain skinned beauty, almost half my age, whose face could have been on the cover of Teen Vogue, taking my weight first thing in the morning before I’ve had any coffee?

Hearing her say, “Duuuuuude” when I got off the scale.

It went downhill from there.

“Have you ever had an EKG?”
“Um…no.”
“Oh, it’s just like standard procedure.”

The next thing I knew, she was asking me about Disneyland and putting strips of tape all around my boob and other parts of my naked body. Then she connected me to a bunch of wires and, although I thought I might explode, nothing much happened.

“Cool. The doctor will give you the results when she comes in to do your exam.”

Just as I was imagining all of the other tests they had in store for me now that I am in the AAC (advanced age category), the door opened and my doctor walked in, sat down and quickly informed me, “You have a right bundle branch block.”

I thought she was continuing a leftover conversation with someone in the hallway about gardening or breakfast cereal but soon realized she was talking to me.

“I’m sorry…What?”

And so my doctor explained. She went on to say that she has the same condition herself and that she’s healthy as a horse so I really shouldn’t worry. In fact, before I had time to allow the news to sink in that I have a FREAKING HEART CONDITION she was pulling out the stirrups and asked me to “skooch down”. She turned on the light and the games began.

“Lights, camera, action!”, she said. (Yes, she actually SAID that.)
“Oh no…no camera,” I replied through clenched teeth.

The doctor and teen nurse both thought my comeback was hilarious. I usually enjoy a good laugh too, especially if I am the one delivering it, and probably would have chuckled myself if I didn’t have all sorts of unsavory things going on in my nether regions.

“Okay…and we’re going to do a quick rectal…”
“WHAAAAAAAAAAA?”
“I know. It’s not fun.”

As her thumb (or something) was in my ass, flashes of the HBO series Oz raced though my head and I tried to go to a happy place but before I got there, it was over. I was left feeling confused and like I may need counseling. Maybe it’s my fault?

Teen nurse then failed miserably at getting blood from one arm but luckily I had another for her to practice on. I was asked if I had any questions, given homework (an Rx for my very first mammogram) and they concluded my exam.

The only conclusion I came to was that they shouldn’t be messing with a girl with a weak heart by giving shocking news so quickly and then probing rectally without warning. That and well woman exams, along with aging in general, suck big, fat, hairy balls.

As far as the title of this post? The jury is still out on that one.

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