>The streets of New York sizzled under the beating sun this afternoon. Humidity enveloped anyone foolhardy enough to walk around in a blanket of steam-room air. Sweat dripped from brows, armpits, and other bodily areas.
It was in this weather that I decided that I did not want to pay $2.25 to take the bus to my doctor's appointment. "It's only a mile," I reasoned. "I can walk on the shaded side of the street." I allotted plenty of time to saunter over there.
By the time I arrived at my new gynecologist's office (thanks for the referral, Dr. F!), my underwear were soaked through. Since I was 30 minutes early, I hoped that would allow me to dry out in the overly air conditioned office. Better yet, maybe he'd run late. While I waited, I pondered how much I would hate being an OB/GYN on a day like today.
Fortunately, before he performed the exam, the good (and wise) doctor brought me into his office to go over my history. We chatted about the Mets. (They are dead to me this season, by the way.) I told him about my exciting medical history - the PCOS, the undiagnosed mysterious digestive ailment, the breast reduction surgery - and he wrote it all down. We discussed about my increased risks for uterine and breast cancer and diabetes. He complimented the friend who referred me to him, and we remarked on how crazy it is that her son is already turning one. Thanks to all the talk, I even had enough time to get cold and put my cardigan on. This was good.
When the time came to do the dirty deed, the doctor did not pass out. He didn't even make a face. At the end, he said that everything looked normal and that he'd see me next year. Whew.