My annual pap: My apparently always pregnant young doctor pries inserts large steel torture device, pries open my vagina, and announces brightly, "Yep! That cervix has definitely closed up shop!" I and my gone-out-of-business cervix potter on to my supposed-to-be-annual-but-I-putz-around-and-so-it's-more-like-tri-annual mammogram: The 17-year-old tech clamps my boob in a vise and then says cheerily, "Just hang in there!" I hang. Boobs throbbing, I proceed to my foot doctor. She's an optimistic soul, probably because she has yet to enter puberty, so I'm surprised when, after pushing my toe back and forth for awhile, she sighs and suggests more surgery. We settle for another cortisone shot into the toe joint. I hobble out.
On Monday I have my first colonoscopy. It's only fair. Wouldn't want my anus to feel left out of the party.
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