Tell us about your first day at something — school, work, as a parent, etc.

I wasn’t going to answer today’s prompt. I wore too many hats at work today and don’t have the brain power to try and remember a “first day” of anything.

And yet…

Yesterday was kind of a first. I have officially been moved into the “Old Lady Room” at my OB/GYN’s office.

Guys, feel free to back on out of this post if the topic makes you uncomfortable. No offense taken. Pussy.

What is an Old Lady Room, you might ask? Where once there were posters about starting a family and entrusting Dr. H to care for your birthing needs, the posters have been replaced with this:

Fucking incontinence.

Yes, I had my Fallopian tubes removed several years ago. I have a 0.00% probability of getting knocked up. Also yes, I may be experiencing perimenopausal symptoms. But incontinence?! With an old, black shoe and white sock wearing dude and a visibly older female in old lady pants, and if you look closely enough, a possible previous piss stain?!

I’m being a baby. I know. A poster doesn’t mean shit. Ladies my age piss their pants all the time. Childbearing will do that. What led up to the Old Lady Room put me in a foul mood. The poster was the final straw.

“Hey Cari. Just a few questions for you… First off, were you born a female?”

“Well, you guys have been poking around in my crotch for over ten years. You tell me.”

“Please just answer the question.”

“Seriously? The last person I want in my life that is ‘gender confused’ is my OB/GYN. Do I need to find a new doctor or is this ridiculous line of questioning mandated?”

“We are required to ask.”

“Fine. Yes, I was born a woman. Next?”

“Has anyone strongly encouraged or forced you to have sex in the past 12 months?”

“Pfft. I wish.”

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have joked around with this topic. In my defense, I was still taken aback by the first question. And, I’m awkward. You should know this by now.

The nurse didn’t appear amused with my responses to the rest of her questions. She must have whispered her annoyance to my doctor on his way in to see me. His normal friendly, complimentary commentary during my “inspection” was nowhere to be found. He was professional and clinical.

It was terrible. 

When I got home, my husband eagerly asked for a report. He finds humor in my OB/GYN and doctor visit stories. He especially anticipates Dr. H’s borderline inappropriate flirtatious banter. Comments like referencing my hair color and the “curtains and the drapes matching”. Or the time he told me that I looked really good and he wished his other patients took care of themselves like I did.  Or the time he got so mad when I told him about a terrible experience with my cardiologist. 

It’s touching. 

“How’d it go?”

“He made me bleed my own blood,” I quoted Dodgeball, trying to lighten the mood before I gave my husband an aneurysm. 

We discussed my “experience” over dinner. The gender identity line of questioning topic morphed into a conversation about our health care system and how it is all driven by greed and some power hungry individuals. This, in turn, led us down the path of the COVID vaccine. Then, the Frankfurt School and how it changed the landscape of higher education. I think we talked about Epstein Island shortly. The world started humming and I finally fell asleep when my husband got on his soapbox about The Council of Foreign Relations…

All because of my first day in the Old Lady Room at my gynecologist’s office.