My annual date with a terrorist

I'm kidding, I don't date terrorist. But I do visit my doctor once a year for a wonderful party I like to call "Invasive Doctors and their perverse questions".

I arrive at the office, 20 minutes late. I called ahead, but still I get the menacing secretary who lets me know -- both by body language and tone of her voice that I've upset the precarious balance of the doctor's schedule.

Never mind that in the past I've waited 35, 45 minutes to an hour in his germ filled waiting room along with every flu bug in town. Never mind that I pay all my bills on time...the deal is the DOCTOR WON'T BE LEFT WAITING.

So I appease the secretary with signing every single form she hands me and I smile and try to act like her actions are not abusive or threatening. I don't do very well at this.

Then, I get to wait -- yes wait -- another 20 minutes. I could have been waiting in my car...but no, that would upset the doctors system. So I wait, thumbing through half torn, out of date magazines. I think I see the secretary still throwing me dirty looks.

They call my name. Here we go, the party is just starting.

First, I get to weigh in. And, even better, the nurse lets me know that yes, it's true, I've actually gained 5 more pounds since this time last year. What a sweetheart! Really thoughtful of her to shout that out to the entire waiting room and office staff.

Next, I get to go down the hall to another room and guess what? Wait some more. At least this time I can't see the receptionists dirty looks and there are newer magazines in here to review. I pick up some arrested adolescent male version of a fashion magazine. Honestly, I never see guys that look like that. And I don't know any woman that want to look like their counterparts.

But no worries, the doctor is now here. Here in person. The man. His schedule successfully disrupted by my 20 minute fiesta, he is rather in a upbeat spirits.

He starts his list of questions....when is your last (never mind). When was your last exam? Do you notice any (can't list what he says here)...and so on and so on. Every crevice, every hidden part of me is out there, exposed. I sit shaking under a thin cotton "robe" and the exam begins.

I have often thought of ways that I could get a little smile from my doctor...just something to really shake up his days. Maybe a tatoo on my thigh? Maybe something more than a picture, maybe a phrase like "Dr. so and so " was here..with a date...and some crossbones or something like that.

Instead I look at the ceiling and continue answering his questions. Nothing is sacred. Nothing is personal.

Then, joy of joys, the exam is completed and get to get dressed. Just like a bad one night stand, he leaves the room and I'm left cold, shuddering but evidently healthy. Good enough for another year when the party continues.