Again the Fates conspired to mock what little dignity remains in my life. Here’s what happened:
The Alpha Japanese Female (AJF) was scheduled for one of those regular check ups of female plumbing parts about which we males know little and want to know even less.
It was gynecology time, and I was dragooned to drive her to the appointment because this was a new doctor and new location and she was concerned about finding a place to park in time.
Ever compliant I agreed to the trek and we arrived about 15 minutes early. The AJF was the first appointment of the day. She asked if I would mind coming into the office with her and helping her fill out the reams of forms that a new doctor visit entails.
As an English-as-a-second-language person, the AJF shares with others of that ilk an unfounded insecurity about her comprehension of medical terms and a reluctance to fill out “official” documents without assistance. It makes no sense as her vocabulary, word choice and handwriting are all superior to mine and I tend to doodle on the forms when bored which really annoys the girls at the desk but I digress.
The point is, I foolishly agreed to follow her into the doctor’s office. Turns out the guy is a “urogynecologist”, a subspecialty I never heard of before. That should have been my cue to flee.
Anyway, we are alone in the office. The nice desk lady hands over a sheaf of documents and I dutifully start to complete them – by now I know all the AJF’s details, meds and dates and such, a side effect of being together so long.
The nurse then comes out and says, “Ma’am, I’ll take you in the back for vitals while your husband completes the forms.” The AJF stands and asks me to hold her purse while she goes into the other room.
I am now the only person in the waiting room, but not for long. Soon, in come gaggles of females. Some tall, some thin, some pregnant, some with children but all female. Like hyenas on the Serengeti they sense an interloper in their midst, an anomaly, a singularity that must be destroyed.
There I am: a big, bearded dude in a ball cap, tee shirt, shorts and flip-flops sitting in the waiting room of a urogynecologist completing medical documents with no corresponding female unit in sight and…I have a purse.
They look askance at me and I realize they are concerned they’ve met Bruce Jenner’s doppelganger, only bigger.
Wait, it gets worse.
The nice desk lady says, “Sir, if you are done completing your medical history form, I’ll take that from you.” She said “your” medical history. The implications are clear to the assembled females who start twittering amongst themselves. Children start pointing. I recall the saying that downed Russians used in Afghanistan, “Always save one bullet for when the women come for you.”
It continues to go south.
The nurse comes out and says, “I’ll take you back to the doctor’s office now.” I guess the AJF asked for me to be present to help with the lingo but the nurse makes it sound like I’m due to hit the table and spread ‘em. Come on big boy, put your feet in the stirrups and cough (or whatever gets done there.)
I get up and do a long walk of shame because the office door requires me to traverse the entire length of the waiting room while under the now disapproving stares of about 9 women. Hisses, forked fingers and spit follow me.
I longed to dig a hole, crawl into it and die.
You would think that when we finally emerged all would be understood and my presence accepted, but no. By the time we came out, all the original females had been shuttled off to wherever they go in these offices and the best I can say is that my escape was quick, painless and most importantly, anonymous.