In a Nutshell, French Gyno

This post is about girl parts...kind of. But still, I wanted to tell you right up front so you can turn away now (Arlington) if you don't want to hear about pending reproductive decisions.

All in? Then, let's go...
I went to the gyno today. My first French gyno, it should be noted. She was lovely and perfectly aged falling comfortingly somewhere between 55 and further on. She spoke a bit of English and took the opportunity to learn some trade terms like 'cervix' and 'pap smear'....with a mimed example of spreading jam on bread to really get the smear message across. Turns out the 'pap' part stands for something and the smear is just for grins.

We did some doodling of female parts and managed to come to an understanding. Boobs, ovaries, tubes...you get the idea.

Doctor's offices in general are very different over here. First of all, there's no big glass window that houses a receptionist and secondly, once inside the examination room there's a desk and a couple of chairs, all office like, in the same room as the examination table that sits off to the side like you're in a groovy space challenged loft--making small spaces work in a comfortable and chic way. This particular doctor works alone; she even does all her own scheduling and filing in her efficiently planned out loft space. A tiny changing room just off the exam space was beautifully tiled and was made cozy with layers of Turkish rugs and flowers. I learned my lesson well from Kirsty and wore a skirt.

After our girl parts language lesson we moved to the topic of prevention. No Frenchie would be surprised to know that French men don't get vasectomies. They just don't. All you have to do is look around at French dogs to know this is true. Balls are tops and are not to be tampered with.

So it was that we began discussing contraception and where the responsibility for it lies.

I feel like this: I've had three children, taken charge of my reproductive health and been the go-to girl in this area for a super long time. And now? I'm done. It's time to hand off the baton, so to speak.

Today when I said as much to my perfectly coiffed French doctor her response, accompanied with shrug was this, 'Well, vous êtes très Américaine." You got that right sister. Balls be damned. My day has come.

And then to the quote of the day, 'One reason you should think about taking the pill is because it gives your ovaries a rest. They work so hard and poof! this little pill tells them, 'you can relax, I'll do the work for you' and ovaries need this.'
Hand on heart. That's what she said.
And I got to thinking about my sad 40 year-old ovaries and how exhausted they must be with all the back and forth exertion of sprouting eggs and hormones. Hmmmm....is she being paid to say this?

The upshot is this....it's done for the year, I know how to say boobs in French and where to find the cheapest, prettiest Moroccan tile, the insult of 40 means I have to have my first mammogram and I've got to decide what to do...give my forlorn, tired little workhouse ovaries a break or chuck it all and promise something outlandish in exchange for the snip, snip.

What the Cycliste Guerrier  will think of this, I just can't say.


And to your great relief there are no photos accompanying this post.