That’s literally the question I just asked the woman at the front desk at the gynecologist office.
Here I am in a strange land, my new home but still, very much like my old home, I have to figure out how I am going to chat with a new doctor. Oh, and all of this chatting is to be done in this half English, half of a half of one third of Hebrew, topped with a little bit of Texas twang, which by the way is a language all by itself.
I literally have anxiety to see a new doctor. Maybe that explains why I cried for 3 hours at work yesterday (but hey sometimes ya just gotta do it). Tears by the way isn’t about weakness okay (shout out to the women of the world that know this already).
Starting all over is exhausting just thinking about it. I have to explain my cancer journey. I have to hear my doctor tell me a gazillion times to come to the edge of the examination table (that is a given no matter what land I’m in) and please don’t judge me because I literally have rofeh sheli (my doctor) in a headlock because I refuse to open my legs, which by the way magically never seems to be an issue when, oh nevermind. I also have to express how my Vagina party has taken a back seat to homelessness after a very vibrant debut here in the holy land. I literally have to sing let my people go so she doesn’t notice and laugh at the fact that I forgot to wax my very best friend also known as my Vagina. And how am I supposed to keep my mind off of the examination if I can’t even tell my dry ass jokes or talk about my favorite brisket recipie or how much I love shakshuka, while she scrapes the walls of my precious womb?
I am asking myself all of these questions as I sit here looking at these white walls and yellow doors. No need for fluff in this doctor’s office and that is just fine by me because all I need to do, is be able to communicate.
I’m not ordering coffee, I’m ordering a clean bill of health. Wish me luck because this time, I really need it.
And yes, I realize this blog sounds unfinished but it is truly a reflection my life.