I’ve been in the US of A for almost nine months now, so it’s only fitting that I finally took myself off to the lady doctor yesterday (are you sure theres no baby in there? No? Only burgers…okay fine).

Shockingly, I don’t love the Doctor (what with my fear of needles and such) but also any chick out there knows that the lady doctor is not the most fun of times (buy me a drink whydontcha? Guys of the world complaining about a finger in the bum… I’d take that any day over a speculum in the…)

Also not surprisingly, the American medical system confuses the FUCK out of me, a mere Commonwealther with previous access to free medical my entire life.

I am fortunate that my job has a pretty neat-o health benefits plan (or so I’m told) and what with my birthday coming up around the corner, I thought it was high time I got this flesh vehicle checked out.

Choosing a Doctor in America is like choosing from a menu. You can add some of this, and a little of that, and the prices are lined up neatly on the side (do I need to tip? I’m so confused!)

Despite the befuddling hoops to jump through, the experience I must say was pretty painless minus the….well we already went over that. My Doctor, Dr. P, is a nice lady who has probably seen one too many terrible things in a system of revolving patients and morbid obesity.

One thing that I was not expecting from my date with Dr P, was the breast exam (buy me dinner!)

I guess I am of the age now where things like cancer can pose a very real and potent threat (especially if you have a family history).

Dr P spent a few extra seconds moving the bad boys around and then finally asked me:

Dr P: “Do you have implants?”
Me: “No. I do not”
Dr P: “Are you sure? What is this scar on your breast?”

“Scar” is weird line from Bra.

Me: “Um… my bra?”
Dr P: “Oh! I was going to say! I couldn’t find any other scars and I thought, MAN those plastic surgeons in Australia really have their scar skills down. Lucky you! Good genetics. Here is a trophy for having incredible, fake-looking boobs.”

Okay fine, there was no trophy, only a wooden stick she shoved in my mouth and a plastic thing she stuck in my ear, but she did tell me to constantly check for weird lumps and shapes (scary) and also a bunch of other terrifying shit about my health and taking care of myself as I get closer to 30. And also that I might drink too much and should watch out for that (come on like 10-15 glasses of anything a week is too much…I’m Australian!)

As I took off my backless gown, my ass hanging out, pointed at her window that faced downtown LA, I decided that, all in all it wasn’t a terrible experience.


(minus the $120 that is taken out of my paycheck each month)