Doctors have plenty of tools at their disposal to determine the severity of a patient's condition. Everything from X-Rays and Lab Tests right down to the thermometer and blood pressure cuff. Well, I'm here to tell you that, for American women between the ages of 16 and 35, they have another gauge to use and I like to call it "Leg Hair Status". It's easy. Are the legs and armpits newly shaved? If yes, the patient is not doing too badly. If no, they should prepare for the worst. One day's worth of growth falls somewhere in between the two. And, yes, I'm speaking from experience.
It wasn't until two or three years ago, while dealing with a malady that required me to see the Doctor and climb in to the stirrups, that I learned a very important lesson. Those stirrups are something else aren't they? When not in use, they're tucked away, inside the exam table, with just the very ends visible to the patient. It's as though they're mocking you, saying "Not this time, but don't ever forget that I'm here....maybe not tomorrow, maybe not for a year, but one of these times you will be required to use me....".
When they ARE in the open and ready position, they speak volumes and are frightening in their mere presence. The worst is that Doctor's offices feel it's important to humanize them by slipping a pair of cheerful, fuzzy socks over them. To me, this makes them that much more frightening; like something out of a Stephen King novel.
You may think I'm digressing once again but you would be wrong. For it was here, in the world's most vulnerable position that my Doctor taught me a lesson that made me laugh out loud.
For reasons to do with my malady, I had not shaved my legs in ages and I had been dreading this moment more and more as the visit grew close. So I'm lying there, alone in the exam room, staring up at the mobile hanging from the ceiling. It's a mobile I have stared at more times than I can count but, to this day I can not tell you what kind of mobile it is. That should tell you something about just how traumatizing this sequence of events can be to a woman.
My Doctor entered the room, walked over near my head and patted me on the shoulder.
"So, you're not doing too well, huh?"
"No" I answered as the tears started to stream down my face. My Doctor has that gift. The gift to make you feel understood. The gift of sympathy or empathy. The gift of validation. Only, at this point, I wasn't crying because of what was going on physically, I was just mortified that I had hairy legs. So, as she made her way back around the table to her tray of tools, I couldn't stay quiet any more. "I haven't shaved my legs in ages" I blurted out. "I'm sorry but my legs are really hairy".
It was here that my Doctor made every single copay I'd ever paid, and every single blood draw and lab test worthwhile. With her next words, I understood why Doctors, good Doctors, get paid so damned much money. She looked at me, smiled kindly and said "Oh, don't worry. It's not like this is a date". I burst out laughing, tears still streaming and got through the appointment in tact.
Since that day, for the most part, I've stopped worrying about what I look like when I go to the Doctor. Honestly, short of offending them with an odor, I'm sure Doctors could care less and have seen much worse. There is a time and place for modesty, and it is not at the Doctor's office. That's the place you should focus on higher priorities.....such as inventing another solution to replace those stirrups and their fuzzy socks.
This really had me laughing! Your description is perfect! Great job :)
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