Going Downtown

Another great thing about being back in Austin is that I have a gynecologist called "Buzz."

Seriously, I love Dr. Bushart, who's been my doctor for the past thirteen years or so - minus a 5-year gap since Anna was born and I quit my job and didn't have insurance, then moved to Corpus and was too heartbroken (or lazy) to bother finding another doctor while I was there. I just made an appointment for a check-up since I have insurance again.

Buzz is a great doctor: he's informative and respectful and kind and extremely good-natured and funny. He's also absolutely dishy - although contrary to what SNL skits featuring Alec Baldwin would have you believe, most women aren't looking for that in a coochie doctor. We like to be sexy around the men we find attractive, and let's face it: a buttless cotton shift and a pair of stirrups aren't sexy. Having your hoo-hah jacked open with a cold metal speculum isn't sexy. I mean, I guess it might be for some people - and those people are about to start googling their way to my blog in droves - but I am not one of them.

You'd think I've made it a personal mission to disappoint perverts. Well, if I'm not having any fun, I don't see why you should either, you sickos!

So anyway, I'm actually kind of dreading this upcoming visit because Buzz told me, when Mom was first diagnosed with breast cancer, that I should start having mammograms at 35 instead of 40. I haven't had one yet, so presumably he's going to schedule my first. I cannot even tell you how much I don't want to do this.

Can't I just get a preventative double radical mastectomy instead?

But I'll be glad to see Buzz again; and hopefully everything's still in working order downstairs.

Oh, and I almost forgot: this post is probably a little TMI for some, so you might want to stop reading now.