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Physical Therapy for Vaginas

I was curious as to what kind of person decides to specialize in physical therapy for vaginas. I mean, I’m no medical expert, but I do have a vagina, and I can’t imagine that there are many exercises one can do for it. This is what I was thinking while sitting in the sterile, gray waiting room of the hospital’s physical therapy department. I was also wondering if the other patients and staff—big, beefy athletic types in sweats and sneakers—could tell I wasn’t there for a torn ACL. I mean, I was wearing sandals and Capri pants, for chrissake. I certainly wasn’t going to be doing any squats.

Then my PT Lisa, good ol’ Lisa, called me back to a small room. She was remarkably normal—certainly not the kind of person who seemed to have a peculiar attachment to vaginas. Lisa asked me what the problem was.

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An incidental finding of a gastric foreign body 25 years after ingestion

My mom has this story she likes to tell that I’ve always believed is totally fiction. This isn’t out of the ordinary—my mom has lots of stories that are, um, exaggerated to say the least. There are the multiple times she has broken out of restraints at the doctor’s office and kicked some healthcare professional across the room (could be a nurse, could be a doctor. One time it was a security guard. Don’t know what a security guard was doing in a maternity ward…) There is the time she was flying on a military cargo plane and she had to put her feet up on the caskets of dead soldiers.  There was the time she was getting some gynecologic procedure done and it hurt so bad that she dug her fingernails into the marble slab she was sitting on (was she a hunk of cheese?) Anyway, let’s just say my mom knows how to spin a yarn. Continue reading “An incidental finding of a gastric foreign body 25 years after ingestion”

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Sorry, Bob Costas

When I was in my mid-20s, I had the good fortune to live in Sydney, Australia during the 2000 Summer Olympics. I was also lucky to snag a job working for NBC on their coverage of the Games. I wasn’t doing anything spectacular, just logging tape mostly.  The job did, however, afford me press credentials that allowed me to go to any of the events I wanted. (Sidebar: Handball rocks!)  I also got to eat the shit out of the free ice cream provided in the NBC complex. Continue reading “Sorry, Bob Costas”