April 11th, 2005

breeden

(no subject)

There is a uniquely female horror that I am experiencing today. I don't think men get this. I don't know how they could.

It is the horror when you call in your prescription for birth control pills, and you discover that it's been a whole year since you had a pap smear, which means that they have to call your doctor and see if they can get a refill, but they can't get ahold of him, so they send a fax, and you call the doctor's office and make an appointment, but since it is, after all, at the end of said birth control cycle, it's like a friggin' war zone down there, and you can't possibly get a pap smear in this condition so you have to wait a week. And the office isn't sure if it can order a refill, since the doctor's not around to clear it, and so I am waiting around to see if I get my required progesterone jolt today, or if, god help us all, I may actually ovulate for the first time in over a decade.

I don't particularly wish to ovulate. My ovaries have been asleep at the switch for so long that if they are woken up, I fear the repercussions. They may go mad with power. They may run amok with butcher knives, attacking the other, more peaceful organs. I just don't know. Anything could happen!

God help us. God help us all.
breeden

(no subject)

We gots pills!

I love my pharmacist. I never realized what a boon a good pharmacist is until I started hearing all these horror stories about pharmacists deciding to make their own little moral decisions about withholding people's birth control. But mine is great, laid back, always asks if there's any questions or problems with the meds, showers me with pamphlets and opinions if I ask about some medication I heard about, mocks the contents of the holistic medicine shelf (I find this hysterical) and today, sent multiple faxes off to the doctor on my behalf, and then double checked to make sure that I had seen the note they sent asking me to make an appointment for an exam, all of it in a sweeping Indian drawl and with many hand gestures. And he remembers my name, and waves when he sees me outside the store. I don't even remember my name some days...

So it's all good.