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.
Categories: Max's Stories
WITHIN THE K STREETS 
Thanks for the laugh… 😉
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Sumemisen, sayonara.
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Domo arigato, Kismet-Roboto.
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Tom, I feel for you. If only you had given me a bit of advanced warning, I could have given you a few fashion tips from that great Australian fashion icon Dame Edna Everidge that would have been of great assistance for your visit. Have you heard of her? Here’s a linkhttps://www.facebook.com/DameEdnaOfficial
You would have fitted in perfectly. Well, maybe not.
xx Rowena
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I recall seeing the “Dame” usually on late night talk shows. What I really needed was one of those Star War invisibility cloaks. Talk about territorial behavior. I doubt men would act like that if the ladies appeared at a prostate clinic. Chances are the guys would line to show off their scars.
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The whole experience shows a complete lack of sensitivity and compassion both by the medical staff who should have made it clear you were there for your wife and had a bit of nouse and so what if you are transgender whatever as the age old saying goes, you should never just a book by it’s cover. I know a rath3er big beefy guy whose mum was given a drug to prevent miscarriage and it’s caused him and others to feel like a woman in a man’s body. It’s a terrible curse because no amount of surgery or makeup will ever make him look like a woman to the outside world.
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You definitely have too much testosterone, and too much facial hair, to make a beautiful woman. I am not familiar with the term “urogynecologist” and hope never to be. You really wrote this sentence: “It continues to go south.” I think that’s the point of that office. And speaking of Jenner, trying to explain to my 11-yr-old son why a man would want to chop off his part and “just have no stuff there” is beyond my abilities. Hopefully, he will not turn out looking like Miss Doubtfire.
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I’ve tried three times to reply to this post and have to keep erasing my remarks lest they get me into deep trouble. There is simply too much here to know where to begin. Bottom line I am just way too ugly to be a beautiful woman or any woman for that matter except maybe Dame Edna. Even Ms. Doubtfire looked better than I could ever hope to achieve. I will await your blog about how the discussion with the 11 year old son worked out, Mom.
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Trying to maneuver through the medical field while dodging those ‘special’ land mines of which you spoke is definitely a challenge. Good news is you’ll never see those people again and mustn’t let a ‘trip of shame’ across the waiting room haunt you. Chalk it up to ‘one of THOSE days’ and be glad you left in tact and with purse in tow, along with the AJF. Having had the last two weeks from living hell at work, your story actually made me smile and laugh out loud, something I was sure would happen anytime soon. Even Sam came over to see what made his fur-mom seem almost human again. Looks like your a hero to more than just the AJF. Well done! 🙂
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I’m happy that you got a giggle. We laughed later when I told the AJF of what went on following her departure. She knows I loathe that kind of exposure which made my chagrin all the more delicious to her. I do not know how to chortle in Japanese but there was plenty of chortling going on around the condo that day.
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But, Tom, think of the comic possibilities here. You could have really messed with these women and left then with stories with which to regale their husbands and girlfriends for hours. Maybe one or two of them even have a blog! Imagine the missed opportunity of pulling out a lipstick from AJF’s purse and then tossing it back as though it just wasn’t quite the right shade for what you had on. OK, all silliness aside, I loved this post. You made me laugh out loud. Literally. Favorite bit was probably the Russian quote but why narrow it down to just that? Where is that Helen DeVries when I want to thank her for sending me to you!?!
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You’re absolutely right! I also could have pulled out her mirror and done that thing where you ladies touch the corner of your mouth and then corner of the eye before closing the compact and returning it to the purse. Shoots, I missed a golden opportunity. Madame DeVries seems to be missing in action and I have my suspicions that either the goat has foisted its revenge or her Neighbour (always with a “u”) got caught doing nefarious deeds and she is in jail following the fist fight. We shall see…
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Yes, I see you are expert at remembering moves from film noir. Remember to close the compact with a snap and then light up a cigarette. Yes, the Neighbour with a “U” might be up to no good and we might have to mount a rescue operation into the Costa Rican hinterlands. That is when it’s convenient, of course.
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And only if promised good eats. I mean, we can be bought, rather cheaply actually, but we’re not free.
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We understand each other perfectly.
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This is hysterical. I wonder how my peeps feel when They take me to my dogtor? Maybe They’re growing tails…
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