Hey hey, it's the wee Mikan. See, he always makes things happier, especially when it looks like he's posing for Hott Catt Monthly. I hate to resort to the interweb cliche of posting kitty pictures, but the alternative is that you hear more about my fear of going to the doctor tomorrow.
I know: I'll talk about selected moments from my doctor-visiting history.
Age: infant
My mother takes me to the doctor because I've come down with some mild cold. The doctor picks me up and sits me upright with my bum resting on his hand. At that moment, I poop on him.
Age: toddler
I am chasing a ball around the downstairs patio, and I don't see a giant pipe sticking out of the ground. When I lurch down to pick up my ball, I knock my face into the pipe. Blood gushes everywhere and my mother initially mistakes my screams for laughter. She drives 16 miles to my doctor, all the while trying to keep me from passing out. The next thing I remember, the doctor is asking me if I want to have blue or red stitches. "I'd like purple," I answer, backing up my request with the knowledge that red and blue make purple. When I toddle into preschool the next day looking like Lil' Frankenstein, the other kids think I am very cool.
Age: early grade school
A boy named Lester Fowler whips the heavy chains of the playground swings at me. One of the links bashes me in the mouth, chipping a tooth. Within days, I am at my dentist's office, having my front teeth filed into a non-jagged shape. I become silently furious at Lester for ruining my teeth and fueling a dislike of my teeth that continues in some form to this day.
Age: middle school
During the routine mini-physical test given at my grade school, I decide that the nurse is wrong in ruling out scoliosis for me. With graveness I realize that my future involves a back brace. When I tell my mother about my self-diagnosis, she is unconvinced. For years afterward, she thinks it is hilarious to bring it up whenever I complain of any sort of injustice: "And on top of that, you have scoliosis!"
Age: pre-Girl Scout Camp
To attend camp, I have to have a physical and have blood drawn. To make things easier, my parents take me to see my friend's dad, Dr. Chang. He's a very nice man, and he draws the blood gently, but all I can think is, "Your daughter always gets better grades in handwriting class than I do." For the rest of the day, I say that I've lost feeling in my arm, and that this whole blood-taking business took things too far, too far!
Age: 16
My first visit to the gynecologist. Because I am a virgin with small breasts, I try to use these facts to postpone the inevitable appointment. It works for only so long, and then I have an appointment with a nice enough male doctor. During the examination, all I can think is, "Whoa, the doctor's name is the same as that guy from Weezer! Haw haw!"
Age: 18
My friends are having sex, and I am not. Anyway, I accompany one of them to the health clinic on campus so that she can get birth control. When the physician's assistant gives us a hokey video to watch, I announce a little bit louder than necessary, "Well, it's not for ME! I'm the last member of the V Posse!"
Age: 23
I am reprimanded by my doctor for my lower-case-D-diet consisting of mashed potatoes and creme brulee. "But I like potatoes and I like custardy goodness," I say, hoping that my happiness will outweigh her years of medical training and skill. She puts the kibosh on the sugar consumption.
Age: 25
As I am having my yearly LadyExam, I regale my doctor with an impromptu speech on the sexual politics of pubic waxing. She tells me that some women wax so much that they develop extra wrinkles on their lady parts. I file that information away for a later follow-up speech.
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