Red Light, Green Light

Game time. Too late to get a do-over on the coin toss.

And I am remembering suddenly how much I like this doc. And Robin. They are both so nice and Dr. Madre is a character. More talkative than most people would be in his position. You know, peering back at me from my crotch to have a chat.

He is explaining what he's about to do as I am scootching. Bigger speculum this time because he needs a little more visibility. Didn't need to know that. Big or small, it is what it is. And what it is starts with the word "uncomfortable."

There is going to be the proverbial "pinch and then a sting" when he gives me the much appreciated lidocaine. What I am not expecting is the little shot of epinephrine that makes me cold and shakey and sends my heart racing.

This is not the time and place you want to be involuntarily quaking. Precision is the name of the game, here. We are talking about my delicate girly parts, after all.

Robin pats my hand and gives it a squeeze. Asks if I am okay. I tell her about the shaking and she helps me stay still. Gets me a warmed blanket.

But then it is time to kick off the procedure and Dr. Madre has her attention. They are about to fire up the toaster and get to toasting. Evidently , quite literally. The purpose of this procedure as Dr. Madre so eloquently explains, is to run an electrified wire over some problem parts - as in his esteemed medical opinion, that will forever eliminate my need to worry about these problem cells. All I can think of is "Out, out, damn spot."

So he and Robin are hovering over the toaster and turning knobs and talking about how high up they have to turn the thing. Light, medium or dark on the toaster scale. And then he is poised to start. He and the little wire loop disappear behind the sheet draped over my wobbly knees.

But there is a problem. The toaster won't fire up. They turn it on and off and the little red light doesn't light. They try another outlet. Nope.

And I chime in from my place in the Anxiety Suite at The Little Shop of Horrors. "Uummm, any chance that the gizmo is working but the light is not? The bulb's not working? We have lift off but no dashboard light?" All I need is for the thing to be fired up and doing damage while they are playing around with the buttons and knobs.

They are not listening. They are unplugging and replugging the brave little toaster in every available outlet. Including the one on the bed. I do not take my eyes off the little red indicator light.

Suddenly there is a little red gleaming beam of light.

I make sure they know. "Hello. Red light. It's on. Game time. Anyone listening?

They both look at me like I'm nuts. I don't care. It's my crotch that's about to get torched.