Visit to the Doctor

I have always had a love fear relationship with people in the Medical Profession. On one hand they appear to be sympathetic on the other hand I can´t help feeling that they are reading my mind and have already certified me as a natter. So whereever possible I avoid their territory as much as I can. But if they happen to be in my territory I suddenly find myself telling them about all my pains and aches not a brilliant idea if you are enjoying a meal and suddenly you realize they are a Gynaecologist and whala I suddenly have the urge to talk about my fallopian tubes and how they have seized to function. So living in Spain and not being very fluent with the language I stupidly feel that they cant touch me in the sense that the language barrier limits what I have say. Every time I find myself at the Doctors I have verbal diarrhoea.

It was not until I had to have a Mammogram for the first time that I found myself at a loss of words. I was send to a specialist and I was not prepared for what transpired next. I went in expecting to take my bra off and have my bobs shoved into some machine as I have seen on TV a few time but hell no. I was told to take off my Braquita which I thought was bra. After a few hand gestures from the nurse I realised that I was meant to take off my knickers. The look on my face said it all did they have someone else’s notes?? I stammered “yo solo para mi mamas” I am here for my breasts only. “Si claro pero abajo tambien” Yes and down below as well. When the Doctor came in and explained that in Spain they do the whole thing shibang you go for a Mammogram you get a Smear Test thrown in as well. Next time I hope they will be kind enough to throw in a face lift. Viva España