The funny thing about doctors.
So, I just got back from my annual visit to the doc. Lucky for me, annual exams include a trip downstairs to the torture chamber which has been cleverly renamed 'Radiology.'
First thing I notice as I'm following the fresh-faced technician is all the nature photographs lining the walls of the hallway leading to the chamber. Florals, mainly, but every photo is stunning; the light, the colors, and the mood of the moment is beautifully captured. And I think to myself, Wow, these are REALLY good! One can't help but marvel at the subtle calmness portrayed on the walls, but the better part of me dutifully adds a note of what lies ahead. As does the technician when she redirects my gaze to the chamber into which we are about to walk. As I find myself face to face with my annual nemesis, the young, curly haired woman with the soft voice guides me to the dressing area enclosed behind a sliding curtain. It is at that moment I notice another nature photograph, and the irony of the subject framed within is not lost on me. I chuckle to myself as I go through the motions of undressing. Then I draw back the curtain, spotting yet another photo of the same nature subject across the room.
Someone has a real sense of humor, I think to myself.
I step up to the machine, this time noticing the beautifully captured rose photograph strategically placed on the wall behind the machine. Something pretty to look at, perhaps to calm and distract the more nervous patients. Ever the professional, the technician begins. As a seasoned veteran of these exams, I can say it is a comfort to have the same person performing this type of work every year, and this tech has been my tech for...many...many years. And I suppose it was that level of comfort with her that led me to comment on the photos.
"That rose is simply stunning, but who took the photos of the boobies?" I ask.
A quizzical look crossed her face as she glanced up at me...and I can see the word 'boobies' bouncing around in her mind looking desperately for a connecting thought on which to land. I nod my head toward the framed photograph featuring a pair of masked boobies on a beach across the room. She pauses momentarily, mouth agape, then replies, "The doctor took those. Is that what those birds are called?" she asks.
Seriously? She didn't know what those are?!?!
I smile. "Yes. Seems the doctor has an interesting sense of humor."
Without stopping her work, she continues, "I always wondered why he put those in here. No one has ever commented about those birds before. Okay, hold your breath," she announces as she breezes over behind the safety screen.
Am I the only woman in this valley who knows what a booby looks like?
Problem is, I've been struck by the irony of this whole thing and at the moment I'm not exactly in the best position to be holding my breath. The eruption of laughter is getting difficult to stifle, but fortunately this gal knows her job and I am soon released, free to wander back to the dressing area next to the photo of the pair of blue footed boobies.
Oh, this is too much.
The technician leaves the room momentarily leaving me to deal with the mounting pile of laughter that is now bubbling to the surface every time I look up at those birds.
Of course, there is another side to this. I'm scarred for life. Now, a certain relative of the pelican commonly known as booby has been forever linked in my mind to mammography.
Whoop-te-doo! It's my lucky day. Maybe I should go buy a lotto ticket.