You Have Nothing to Worry About! (Gulp)


Let’s start with the good news. As your doctor, I’m happy to tell you that you’re perfectly healthy for a woman in her advanced 20s. Your pussy looks as pink, supple and fresh as a teenager’s. My professional medical opinion is that shit’s juicy as a ripe peach and tight as a brand new Chinese finger trap. I almost couldn’t get the forceps out! As we say in the medical community: damn girl — you got that good good.

Now for even more great news! Your little tittles feel lump-free and healthy. Also, your nipples are the loveliest shade of dusty rose and, if it’s OK with you, I’d like to take a picture of them so I can try to find a lip shade to match.

Onto the well, it’s not bad news, but I’m just looking at your family history of cancer here and OH WOW. Breast cancer on both sides. How…interesting! And two instances of uterine cancer on your mother’s side…well, three if you count the recurrence. I’m very sorry about your mother, by the way. Two extremely rare types of cancer in one person. How unusual.

But you have nothing to worry about! Nothing at all. Although you are a perfect candidate for genetic testing. Will insurance cover it? LOL with your family history, they better! It would be ridiculous if they didn’t. I mean seriously, just look at this chart. It’s absolutely riddled with cancer. Which doesn’t mean you have anything to worry about! You are, as I said, perfectly healthy.

Although now that you’re only two years younger than your grandmother was when she died, I do insist you get a mammogram. Not recommend — insist. I realize most women don’t start getting mammograms until they’re at least a decade older than you, but I’m shocked you haven’t had one yet. Shocked — not worried. I’m not worried about you at all. As I said, your little titties are fine! But a machine needs to flatten them into little pancakes immediately.

I’m also going to set up an appointment for a sonogram. Your uterus feels absolutely lovely, but someone’s got to get a real look at that thing just to make sure it’s not full of cancer. Which I’m sure it’s not! It’s just a casual procedure that you must do as soon as possible. Like tomorrow. Or this afternoon. Or now. Maybe I’ll take you to the nearest hospital and just do it now.

We can discuss birth control when you come back to me in…three weeks. No four. No two weeks, then again in four weeks. As I said, you’re healthy as a horse! Not a race horse, a regular horse that gets to chill in a field all day. But I would like to see you biweekly, at least, from now until you inevitably die from one of these many cancers you’re almost definitely genetically prone to.

Just one last thing, while we’re at it — you’re going to need a prostate exam. Yes, I understand that, as a woman, you don’t have a prostate, but given your family history I think one should be examined in your presence just to be sure. Might as well check the dick and balls, while we’re at it, to be extra safe.

Why do you look so worried? I’m not worried! We just want to be safe. Extremely, incredibly safe. You know what? Maybe, just to be safe, what we should do is extract your soul from your body. How does that sound? That way, you can be a floating existential being for all of eternity without the danger of contracting illness in your extremely illness prone body.

Here, if you lie back, I’ll just suck your soul right out and…there you go. It’s a shame you had to give up this gorgeous pussy, but I’ll make sure it’s donated to a woman in need.

Now, I’ll refer your soul to a few other doctors, just to be safe, and see you back here in two weeks. Have a nice Tuesday!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s