Menopause Instalment No. 3

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Okay, so with Yves babe in Her Manus with the Wildebeest (Wilde Bees?) Wild Bees? Ya, that’s appropriate) … okay, so with Yves babe in Her Manus with the Wild Bees, I was left. Well, just left. Right. So. What’s a girl to do.

I decided to get my cheap thrills by having a mammogram and an ultra sound instead, just so that other parts of my anatomy could be the absolute focus of attention for a change. Hi Fi Corporation could learn a lot about Ultra Sound from this little lot. Geez.

So, once again the all-purpose-all-person little gown, but now it was time for Mammo and pancakes, not Uncle Sam and ear buds. Good fun the flippin’ pancakes. I’d forgotten what a delight it is to have one’s face pressed up against a cold, hard metal whateverthehellitis, with certain valuable body parts being crushed under a perspex whateverthehellTHATis, at the same time as having to make small talk with the masochistic cookie who’s doing all this to one. Geez.

But, there is a reason for everything, as they say, and the reason for this was: To Extract from the Masochistic Cookie the Name of a Gynae to Replace the Dead Monkey and Yves. Hey, this could turn into the sequel for Madam and Eve. Good thinking Batman. Okay, so the cosmic reason for the pancakes was ….. and the Masochistic Cookie gave me a name without my even asking for one. How’s that for mental telepathy.

Now, the gynae which the Masochistic Cookie gave me was a female. This in and of itself wasn’t a problem even though it was a first for me, in terms of gynaes. But okay, no problem, I was willing and able, and as she had been recommended by a highly reputable place of pancake-making with ultra sound, I made an appointment to see this female gynae. Could only get in a month later. No problem and no hurry either. I was also informed at the time that she doesn’t do the whole baby in the middle of the night thing, and that was fine by me. I don’t do the whole baby in the middle of the night thing either. Cool bananas. We already had something in common.

Rightieho, the day was eventually upon us and I arrived at the rooms. Nice enough. I was then invited into the inner parlour and had to give my life’s history to yet another ear-bud-probing homosapien. This done, I was then invited into yet another inner parlour and as we don’t do the whole baby in the middle of the night thing and therefore, presumably, did not need the leggies-in-stirrups little scenario, I settled myself comfortably onto the bed-thing, having first donned the all-purpose-all-person little gown.

And I lay there admittedly expecting great things from this fellow female homosapien. She did what they do, you know, and I did try to remain relaxed even when it was being approached by the plectrum/spectrum/spatula whatever that darling little appliance is called. Not that easy with a few tons (I exaggerate) of metal on the ready, waiting for the gap. Anyway, entry was gained, though a power driven jack hammer would probably have been more appropriate, anyway, so entry was gained. So far so good.

Until the female gynae thought, out loud unfortunately, using these words, “Uterus, where are you?” in a bit of a sing-song voice.

WELL, I was now seriously tense. Seriously. And I had VERY big eyes. A GYNAE – and a female one at that – asking where my UTERUS is? But this did lead me to have the same thought, only not out loud. Where indeed WAS my uterus? And indeed had the plectrum/spectrum/spatula in fact ventured into the correct orifice ….?

Yes indeedy.

Well, my uterus was found shortly thereafter, presumably where it belonged, and not abandoned in a Woolies trolley or at the bus stop or anything like that.

And so anyway, all was well. “A well woman”. Well, a woman yes, but hey, watch where you leave your uterus next time babe.

Sweet, well, I don’t know, sweet somethings until the final instalment

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