Friday, February 20, 2004

Playing doctor. Yesterday was my annual physical. I wanted to find out about the acid reflux and a large spot on my hand. Turns out the pretty purple pill should work on the stomach and the hand thing is just an "age spot." And because I have aged and I'm now 40, drastic measures are needed. First an EKG test, which was totally uninteresting. And then the cough-cough test. And then the bend over test. That's not a big deal (although I know of a couple of straight men who are FREAKED by getting that test), but the doctor then tells me that I need to get a colonoscopy. Jesus fuck. He wants baseline data on my guts. Which means I have to take super-laxatives for a day, poop out everything in my system, go to the hospital, get sedated, have a tube stuck up my bum and a video made. I hope they give me a copy so at my next craft party I can pop it in the VCR and amaze my friends with "A Tour of Homer's Rectum." I just canned the crass joke I thought up.

In other news, I sent a company-wide email this morning about my "flippant" comment at the benefits meeting and received a number of responses. One other woman said she had had similar feelings (she has a boyfriend) but was too chicken to speak up. All nine responses were supportive. I feel much better now, and I guess I'll put the baseball bat away. A chocolate eclair helped too.

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