Tortured for Christ

I hate going to the doctor for ladies.  HATE HATE HATE  It has always been my least favorite thing to do.  I would rather jump out of a plane.  But yesterday I had to go.  Every 5 years I have to visit the torture chamber and my time was up.  I tell myself to imagine I am being tortured for Christ.  Well I realized yesterday that I will not survive being tortured for Christ.

I chose a doctor based on her picture on the hospital website as to who looked the nicest.  Well, when I called to make the appointment the doctor wasn't available, so I just took whoever they gave me.  She looked nice when I saw her.  And really, she was nice.  But she wasn't gentle.  And being gentle is more important to me in this position.

I explained to the doctor what I needed done and she told me that usually they do it under anesthesia.  But I told her that I had done it twice without being put under and I knew it would cost a lot more, so she agreed to do it in her office.  Actually, we had to go to the exam room down the hall.  I was told to get undressed.  No gown was handed to me.  The doctor and two nurses did not leave the room.  We just all stood there while I dropped my drawers and climbed on the table.

Then the torture began.  She got her sharp metal instrument ready and cleaned me with iodine.  I squirmed and tightened all the muscles in my body.  That did not help with the exam, which hadn't started yet.  But neither did the shaky bed I was laying on or the wall I was pushed against.  The doctor decided I needed to be on a better table, with better light, and stir-ups.  So I got dressed and headed to the labor and delivery room.  I again had to get undressed in front of several ladies and jump on a table.  But the stir-ups did not keep me from pushing as far away from the doctor as I could and I told her it would be better if I had the anesthesia.  I got dressed and dejectedly walked out of the hospital, trying hard to hold my tears in and push it all deep inside me.


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