Number 44

What a wonderful, wonderful day, one I will never forget. I will always remember where I was, who I was with and what I was wearing during the inauguration. Always. (For the record: at work, standing in the exercise area., watching an old analogue T.V. completed with rabbit ears; with the clients and staff at work; light blue sweater, darker blue corduroys, black shoes.) I was NOT in front of my computer, as the Internet crashed at work and thus my original plan of watching the event via Facebook thankfully did not come to fruition--it probably turned out to mean so much more being surrounded by people who had lived through segregation, who had experienced repeated discrimination, who never thought they'd live long enough to see such history. Men and women in the 80's and 90's, watching, clapping, listening and having a tear or two.

I am one lucky person. What an honor to have had the chance to be with these fine people.

My day of Obama Inauguration started with a visit to Dr. Pasture, gynecologist extraordinaire. Not exactly my ideal inauguration breakfast event but important nonetheless. When Dr. Pasture walked in, took a look at me, flashed a moment of surprise, shook a pointing index finger at me. He had never seen me as a patient, only as a concerned partner with a uterus the size of Cleveland. He recognized me and gave a soft chuckle. I acknowledged that he had indeed motivated me to get my sorry ass in gear and my feet in the stir-rups. His dry, quiet, witty humor was in tact and ready for use on me, even though I don't have any fibroids or other foreign objects taking space in my abdomen.

I will spare you most of the details related to having a pap smear but I can't ignore his well-deserved chastising.
"Do you go to the eye doctor for check ups?" he asked.
"Yes." (Uh-oh. Where is this going?)
"How often do you get your eyes checked?"
I give him a quizzical look and state, "every year."
"Do you go to the dentist?"
"Yes."
"How often do you go?" he queried, slight smile on his face.
Oh dear. I see where this is going. "Twice a year."
"So, you get your eyes checked once a year and you go to the dentist twice a year and you go to the gynecologist every three years?"

Touche.

I assured him I was very motivated to come see him yearly after the whole wife-favre-o-roid ordeal.

Dr. Pasture was distracted from further taunting by the unveiling of my tattooed back. (I always forget that's back there, as I can't really see it....) As he pulled my gown open in the back, I squeaked out, "I guess I should have warned you that was coming." I must say he was very intrigued by the artwork and he took time to identify each and every cartoon character splashed across my back, poking them as he went down the line. "Mickey Mouse....Goofy... Spongebob..... who's that?" I answered that it was "Atom Ant," and he exclaimed in recognition "that's right!" (He is the first person who actually seemed to know who Atom Ant was and who genuinely excited about it.)

Of course, there were a speculum to be put into use, so tattoo talk was limited in nature. The exam was uneventful and, as noted, I will spare you the details (despite some really, really funny commentary from Dr. Pasture--none of which I can figure out how to appropriately post in this blog, so I'll leave well enough alone). For the record, I had a normal, boring exam and certainly do not have any fibroids floating around seeking attention. I was out of there and on my way to enjoy the day's political events without delay.

Yes, I will always remember the day--the swearing in of Number 44, the people, the clothes, the feelings, the hope....and, I will always remember I was with Dr. Pasture talking about my tattoos on the same day Number 44 became President.

Maybe I need a new tattoo in honor of the new president.........