Taking stock – and icky stuff

Boobs? Check.

OK. Nothing to write home about yet…still waiting for the day when I properly fill out a bra and can ditch the somewhat constricting vests and crop tops. But there is progress: I guess I know now what your average 12-year-old goes thru just waiting to catch up with her already developing classmates.

And still pissed at the fact that one seems to be noticeably lagging the other).

Nipples. Different.

Definitely different. Thicker. Wider (though again, the right side is definitely lagging the left).

Half the time utterly numb: the other half, so sensitive I NEED those crop tops to minimise any and all casual brushing of material. Is this really “normal”? I swear I am going to have a road accident some day when they are in full perk mode.

Bum. Yep.

Rounder. Fuller and, according to t’other half – who rather more easily sees what is going on behind me – a decidedly more feminine curve. And since the hernia op is also pretty much behind me, time to get back to toning. Yay!

Now the icky stuff. In to see the GP today to swap my prescription over from patches to tablets. Only he is out at an emergency. So saw a lovely female GP instead. Can I join her list? No: she’s only part time. Damn!

But the time to swap GP’s is going to be soon. Nothing against the bloke except…well, he is a bloke, and my embarrassment on the bloke front shows no sign of dissipating.

As evidenced by today’s exchange. The GP I did get to see is slightly concerned that, post-hernia-op I had some difficulty peeing and there was some blood in the urine. Er: just a side-effect of the op?

Maybe. Only there are other things it could be like – irony of ironies – prostate problems, or stones or…well, a variety of serious stuff. So…she gives me a couple of small jars to take away and fill and I part with a veiled threat that next time I am in to see her she will have to stick a finger up my backside to check me out.



I really don’t want to go there. Or more to the point, I don’t want HER going there.

But it does put things in perspective. I nearly fainted, having an intimate exam from the guy who did my hernia op. I do NOT like blokes messing around “down there” now.

OK. A minor concession next year, as most of those doing gender surgery are male.

But after that, I can imagine the likelihood of needing occasional intimate exams is going to be pretty high. At which point there is no way I am going to want a male GP.



2 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    spirifer said,

    I’ve always understood that all pairs of bewbies are not the same size as each other. My left one’s always been obviously bigger than the other – a bit like feet, I suppose. We’re none of us perfectly symmetrical.

    Anyhow, are you required to see your “own” GP at each visit? At our surgery, it’s pretty much pot luck who you see, unless you have been asked to see a particular GP. In other words, there’s no link set in stone between any patient and a particular GP.

  2. 2

    Lucy Melford said,

    The finger-up-the-bum prostate test is old hat. They can assess the state of your prostate with a routine blood sample every six months.

    Like you, I prefer to see a female doctor now. And I do. And she’s got kids and is part-time. If it were urgent, and she wasn’t available, I could ask to see any of a dozen doctors in three linked local surgeries, some of whom are female. It obviously all depends on the practice and how they organise themselves. I’m in mid-Sussex.

    As to boobs, mine are the sort a thirteen-year-old might proudly sport. Definitely there, but no cleavage as such. I suppose things will get slowly better… At least they are ‘young’ pert boobs and not old, dried-out empty sacks that hand down like bats. So my eventual A-cup may look more prominent than the average bust possessed by the average old girl. Same for you.


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