Somes we get so engaged in our persuits we forget our health. Here is an experience I had during a visit to St.Vincents hospital. It was terrible!
At St Vincents, my modeling experience, my lack of or my health doesn't seem to be a factor to when I will get seen or the treatment. When the midget with the name tag Christina welcomes me, it is the first time I have felt tall in what feels like years. I don't mind that she takes forever typing in my personal information, it is fun for me to be near someone who is shorter than me and I wonder what I will tell her if she asks for my height and I wonder what her medically suggested height really is as I look down to her and take a sip of my coffee, which I have been holding tightly for the past 4 hours. She might have notice my nerves from fumbling through my bag to find a pen and my writing in my journal. She might have wondered if I am writing about her and I was. I wait in the gyno waiting area which is around the corner and full of asians, blacks and hispanics, I think I am the only white person at St Vincents, maybe it is ethnic day or maybe it is just like this, I try not to judge and just focus on my journal and look through my weekly schedule which is nothing. I stare at the lined paper and just pray to god that I do not have a sexually transmitted disease so that this might be my last visit to St Vincents. I wait for my name to be yelled for the second time. The second yell means it is my turn. When the nurse checks my height and weight are giving I forwardly exclaim that I do not have an eating problem and that I have been small all my life incase she was wondering. I also quickly spit out that I have anxiety and I might want to talk to the doctor about it. I forget to say I am there to get birth control pills which is the reason I came in the first place and have put up with these conditions of poverty of the clinic for so long. It has been 2 hours and I am finally out of the doctors office. But it isn't a real comfort because there isn't a photo to look at when I lie down on the Gynecologist table, legs in stirrups at least 100 years old. The doctor says his son goes to Syracuse and I really could care less of this similarity and wonder " why did I start!" and strike up a conversation and regret even saying I am from Syracuse, NY, while I sit with spread legs and without the ease of a pretty ocean photograph or something to distract the clipping and what feels like scraping of my insides to give me my year late check up.
A few minutes later I am done. Pants up. It feels good to back on 7th Avenue and finally feel clean again, I wonder what celebrities do. Do they have house calls, and if they do, do they make the doctor sign a confidenutality aggreement incase they have a disease of infection so that the press can't write about it? It is important to get annual Gynocologist check ups, but if you can help it, find another place to go.