Because I'm pale and interesting I occasionally get a medical professional to give my skin the once over to make sure I'm not incubating anything dastardly.
My GP is only a few years older than me, I think, but he has quite the avuncular air and I usually feel perfectly comfortable with him. So a few months ago I went to see him to check out some dark freckles on my back. The upshot was that he wanted me to come back in three months' time so he could give them the once over again and decide if any needed to be removed. I got a reminder letter at the four month mark and that was about three weeks ago. I can't defer the evil deed any longer. I must phone for an appointment today.
I'm not afraid of having things cut off me and I don't particularly want to die from a melanoma. It's just that I don't know if I can sit through his bedside manner again. Last time I nearly ran screeching out of the surgery but something kept me frozen to the spot, face bedecked with a rictus grin, after he kindly suggested that I step behind the curtain and strip down to my bra and panties.
Dear Lord. Anything, anything at all, but panties.
Fortunately I was actually wearing underwear that day so at least that kind of embarrassing complication was avoided.
3 comments:
I think it would freak me out if my doctor talked to me in Australian slang. I probably wouldn't even know what he was saying.
But at least it would make it easier to ignore any unpalatable news.
Ugh! I hate hate hate the word 'panties'. I have never used it, nor even recall hearing it until I was fairly old. Those things what cover my crotch region I've always known as pants, underpants or underwear.
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