Hello, friends! How is everyone? Sorry I’m so late today (I’m sure you’ve all been barely able to function without me), I just got back from a whirlwind trip to my very favorite place: the gynecologist. I spend the AM running all over town in the rain to get to my appointment, only to learn that my most recent annual exam (aren’t you glad I didn’t say pap smear?) (sorry for then actually saying pap smear) (smear!) was not a full year ago, and there was a chance I’d be sent a big ole bill from the insurance company if I went ahead with the exam, so did I want to just come back in a month?
Sooo I put my pants back on and moved on with my day. What an excellent use of my pre 9 AM hours. My ineptitude in understanding the complexities of the American health care system remains impressive.
But don’t worry, I still managed to get my fair share of clinical nudity this week with a Monday visit to the dermatologist. The derm might be even more uncomfortable than the gyno, now that I’m thinking about it. At least when you’re at the lady doctor, you’re situated in a way so that you can’t really see what’s going on, you know? You can cover up with the paper robe, then just lay back, think of England and pretend you’re anywhere but there. But at the derm you’re just kind of throwing it all out there. Skin covers 100% of your bod, there’s nowhere you can hide.
My doctor found a mole on my back that she thought might be semi-suspicious, so decided to remove it and do a biopsy. I know that this is totally common and I’m sure I’m fine … by which I mean I am certain that I have melanoma and won’t live to see 30. I’m well aware that I should just be a chilly Billy about it but I can’t help freaking out a little. Is that so wrong? I’ll should hear back from them by early next week – GAH!
Anyhoodle, this surgery situation was hilariously awkward. Because the mole was on my back, I had to be at least topless – the doc said I could put my pants on but of course I wore a dress that day, so all I had to wear were my underbottoms. I was then instructed to lay on my stomach on the exam table, which I did, and they lowered the table, mechanically. It was on some kind of lifts that just made think of cars at the auto-body shop. The doc removed the mole, easy peasy, and then moved around to the front of the table, where she stood over me and gave me some skin-care info as the nurse began to sloowwwly raise the exam table. There I lay, like a Buick in for repair, topless, with my chin perched on one hand, senior portrait style, pretending to take in her advice (something about the ABCD’s of moles?), but mostly trying to hold it together enough not to burst out laughing in her face.
It was real weird, you guys. I will never understand how medical professionals actually become accustomed to nudity…I swear I would just crack up all the time. Probably for the best I’m not a doctor. Also: I barely scraped through 9th Grade bio so…yeah, just a solid decision all around.
And with that, why don’t we take a look at what else was keeping it awkward this week.
This Wild and Sexy Halloween Celebration:
Ain’t no way anyone partied harder than Brian & I did last night. After dinner we caught up on New Yorker back-issues (him) and mom-blogs (her) and were lights out by 10 PM.
And we can’t stop. And we wonnnn’t stopp.
I didn’t even get it together with a costume. I should have just walked out of the house sporting…
Which is how I woke up Halloween morning. Au natural, baby.
1) Please observe that label. That is some delicious Swedish Festive Drink, the signature carbonated beverage of Ikea. It is disgusting.
2) Get ready for your Liz Ho Overshare of the Week: Sunday afternoon I went to the bathroom and noticed that my pee seemed slightly pinkish (why was I even looking? Don’t ask) so I did what any sane person would do which is PANIC. I quickly chugged two large glasses of water, found an empty plastic bottle in the recycling bin and peed into it in order to closer investigate. I was going to make Brian look at it (RIP sex life) but he was in the bedroom with the door shut talking on the phone, so I quickly visited my very favorite website Web MD. And would you believe it, for once they actually HELPED me instead of encouraging my hypochondriac tailspin.
Turns out, y’all, that if you consume a lot of beets, your urine (and um, the other thing) will be tinged a delightful shade of pink.
My mind flashed to the five large beets I’d juiced that morning in an attempt to clean out my fridge and there you have it. Crisis averted.
The more you know!
(For the record, I got rid of the specimen without Brian ever noticing – the mystery is still alive!)
A gift from some sweet friends…one month ago. I think it might be time to bid farewell? I can’t even be trusted with dead plants.
My colleague Margaret just moved and needed to get rid of this cabinet. Somehow I ended up being the lucky recipient – I was going to DIY it (LOL, I know) into a bar cart – it was mine for free if I could meet her at her old apartment on the Upper West Side…and somehow transport it back to my apartment in Brooklyn. Easier said than done, friends.
The cabinet is set on wheels, so we were able to push it out of Margaret’s apartment and into the elevator but got our first cold hard dose of reality when we reached the building’s front stoop. It was a bear to get down one step…how would I get this up the 27 steps waiting for me back at my elevatorless home?
No matter! We’d forge on.
We pushed the cart down to the end of the block drawing many a stare and lucked out to hail an SUV taxi right away. The driver hopped out to help us load up the trunk, took one look at the size of our cargo, leapt back in the front seat and sped away.
We still refused to give up.
We pushed the cart across the street for more optimal taxi hailing but didn’t want to try to haul it onto the curb, so mostly just stood in the middle of a busy road, forcing cars to swerve all around us. We hailed down another SUV taxi, who once again dashed at the sight of the gigantic furniture. I tried the Uber taxi app for a van, and the price estimate told me it would be at least $99 to get back to my home. Thus making my ‘free’ chest actually cost more in the hundred dollars range.
A super nice man with a van full of garbage did stop and offer to give us a ride which was SO nice and we totally definitely should have taken him up on his offer (it’s always a good idea to get into cars with strange men, right?) but we decided enough was enough and called it quits.
‘Twas not to be.
We rolled the cabinet back to Margaret’s apartment, where it is likely still sitting in the hallway, if anyone in NYC is looking for some new furniture. It’s all yours, for free! Plus $100 for transportation and/or the possibility of being murdered by a garbage van man.
And that, my friends, was my week. I’m REALLY sorry that I said “pap smear” and also that I told you that story about my pee. I’m considering establishing some boundaries, maybe? Eh.
Hope everyone has an utterly delightful weekend!
xoxo Liz Ho