On Wednesday, still feeling a little rough, I drove to the middle of fucking nowhere to have one of those "work you up thoroughly" kind of physicals.

I get there and am immediately gifted with a little cup which to wee in, which if you're a woman means you'll be rinsing the urine off your hand in short order. I don't know why they hand women little pots to pee in, if there were someone thinking in the medical profession it would really be shaped the size of a frisbee as then we wouldn't have to aim with a tiny little spigot we can't even see.

I then went in to talk to a nurse practitioner before seeing a doctor. We discussed children.

"You have twins!" The practitioner says excitedly.

"Yes I do." I smile.

"I have a friend who's having twins. She's 43. They're IVF babies."

"Mine are IVF babies," I reply.

"Really? My brother has no sperm."

Wow. I did not see that one coming.

"Oh. Er...I'm very sorry about that."

"It's ok. They used donor sperm and had IVF. It didn't work, then they ran out of his sperm, too."

Oh my god.

"I'm so sorry," I say, dazed.

"It's ok. They're now adopting from China. Sperm problems forgotten, really!"

Except by his sister, that is.

"And you're...33?" she asks.

"Yes, that's right," I confirm. "I'll be 34 in a few weeks' time."

"When's your birthday?"

"April first."

"Oh April Fool's Day! That's my wedding anniversary!" she says excitedly.

You got married on April Fool's Day? Seriously? My life has been hell having the first of April as a birthday, I can't see anyone deliberately choosing it for anything apart from a bikini wax appointment.

"So you'll be having a complete physical today, including blood work, measurements, breast exam and cervical smear," she lists, reading from a sheet of paper on top of my chart.

"Oh I just had a pap smear, I don't need another one, thanks," I say hastily.

"You don't want the smear?" She asks incredulously.

Be lubed up and slip my way to the parking lot? So tempting. "No thank you, one smear every few years is enough."

"But the pap smear is our main perk!"

You people need to work on your marketing.

"I'm good thanks. Just the rest of the exam."

They strip me down and take lots of measurements. My BMI is bang on normal and I now weigh 8 pounds less than I did before I got pregnant, which on one hand is good and on the other it means my stomach apron is just that much more noticable. Even the nurse practitioner noticed it.

"You have that apron of flesh that means you had kids," she says, observing my stomach. "I have that, too. It never goes away."

I sigh. I suppose I should be glad she's focusing on the apron as opposed to noting that I have a small hole on the right hip of my knickers.

"Have you been well?" she asks, scribbling on her chart.

"I've been ill, actually," I reply. "It's been Puke Central at my house."

She takes an involuntary step backwards. I feel like Linda Blair.

We then discuss my alcohol consumption. I was ready for this. Once returning home from Canada, Angus and I have been regimented about alcohol. We drink only at the weekends (although in the case of a really, really bad day we've been known to pop a cork out). When I think back to other periods we were doing what looks like typical home behavior over here, in that we got home, loosened the tie, and poured a glass of wine after a rough day at the office.

I tell the nice nurse practitioner with the sterile brother that I drink a max of 3 bottles of wine a week (in fact it's usually less than that).

"How many glasses of wine do you think are in a bottle?" she asks, looking at me.

Four. "Six," I say, trying to be the picture of moderation.

"Nine. There are nine glasses of wine per bottle."

"Nine! NINE! That's impossible! What kind of wineglasses are you using, ones from Lilliuput or something? Nine glasses? We're talking drinking glasses and not eyeglasses, right? Not shot glasses?"

"No, there are nine wineglasses of wine in each bottle. So in essence you are drinking 27 units of alcohol a week. The recommendations for women is to drink 14 units. Worse, you drink it over a three-day period."

"But I never get drunk," I protest. "I never lose control of my faculties." This much is true. I've been mildly souped once since the arrival of the babies, and that was on accident. I've not once been out of control or unable to deal with the children, not like the wild drinking days I had before they were conceived where occasionally hangovers were things of legendary proportion that generally involved mornings spent in bed and stomach contents coming back up for a friendly visit.

"Your liver will have to work that much harder to deal with toxins. Truthfully it's much, much better to drink regularly during the week."

"Seriously, are you advising me to drink regularly during the week?"

"Yes I am. It's better for your body. No more than a max half bottle of wine at a sitting."

Doctor's orders, then.

The rest of the physical goes smoothly. I am taught how to do self breast exams, which I am ashamed to admit I have never once done before and I will now be diligent and good and check myself. Disturbingly, I have high blood pressure, which I never had before I got knocked up but which now seems to be an issue. Also disturbingly, I'm to go to a specialist to have my kidneys checked as they're concerned I may have sustained damage from Nora booting my kidney once too often.

-H.

PS-I'm such a dick. Wordsforsnow (who has one of the cutest little girls in the history of cute little girls, which is really quite a long and distinguished history) kindly sent us these four amazing books, and although I thanked Suzie on email I forgot to thank her here which makes me feel like an asshole. I'm sorry, Suzie - we love the books, thank you very much!

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:02 AM | Comments (12) | Add Comment
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