After a few minutes wait, my doctor walks in, smiling cheerily and trailed by a doctor in training. "Hello," she singsongs (I swear, there are times so she's so damn chipper I expect bluebirds to fly in and join her in song as bunnies hop around her feet). She introduces the rather bashful resident and we get down to business.
We talk about the issue at hand, and I hop up on the table for examination, then hop off the table to go through a range of movements. Balance on one leg, lift the leg front and back, bend over and touch my toes. I feel older than the dinosaurs, grimacing with each maneuver.
She pulls up a stool, and sticks her face just inches from my pelvic region as she feels my hip area. She pulls the waist of my yoga pants down a few inches to expose the top of panties and remove a layer from my hips. "Here, feel this," she says to Dr. Bashful, as she points to an area of my hip bone. He reaches over, feels the area, and says he's having difficulty locating anything. My doctor, whom I've known for years and has seen as more of my girlie bits than my boyfriend I'd wager, pulls the top of my panties down to get a better feel and look at the hip joint...
And out springs the grey bikini bush, in all it's lovely, untended too
"Sorry, the boyfriend has been out of town a lot."
She laughs. "I'd hate to see what your legs look like!"
The joy of getting old (and grey)!