So the doctor's appointment went much as expected. It seemed like the main purpose was for him to get a look at me, see how I look, observe how I behave, ask Gray if I'm improving psychologically, etc. Basically he wanted to make sure I'm not about to go stick my head in the oven any time soon. (Good thing the follow-up wasn't 3 weeks ago or I might be writing this from a padded room.) We are lucky to have such a great OBGYN. Gray likes this guy as much or more than I do, and that's saying a lot of a man who's seen more of my lady bits than Gray ever will.
(Also, can I just say...how fucking lucky am I to have a guy who insists upon joining me at every one of these appointments? Talk about being an involved partner! I hope he doesn't ask to go along for my next pap...)
As we were leaving, Doc made a comment about Gray's Death Magnetic shirt....my first thought was, "Oh no, here we go..." I don't think he knew what he was getting himself into. It was kind of funny to listen to them go from talking about condoms to talking about Metallica, debating about whether or not they had "sold out" in the 90's, Gray trying to convince him that the new album gets back to their 80's roots. That could have gone on for a while. I practically had to pry him off the poor man.
We sent our OBGYN a copy of Death Magnetic as a thank you for being such a kick-ass guy.
Later, to coin a phrase from Dooce, our "reconvening of the procedure" was pretty much a total disaster and I had to resist the urge to stay in bed for the rest of the weekend, getting the pillows all soggy. It wasn't for lack of effort. It's just...well, you know how it feels when you get kicked in the cervix? Yeah, that's what it was like. And then the condom broke.
I'm going to go cry again now.