Persephone
04-28-2010, 03:31 PM
I had a stress test this morning, which wasn't supposed to be the crossdressing kind of stress test, but the ordinary medical kind where they run you on a treadmill 'til you make sounds like an old-fashioned perculator.
Since my doctor knows me as a male, I wore a men's polo shirt that is a sort of bright magenta color with black and white stripes and, because I wanted something soft for the workout, a pair of pocketless women's pants. No makeup, hair in a low pony tail, in effect, short of a suit and tie, something I plan as a "guy look."
It failed.
The technician escorted me into the room and, as I put my purse and jacket on the chair, said, "Oh! I like your purse!"
"Thanks," I said, immediately beginning to fall into the pink fog, "its kind of an old one."
She had me sit on the examining table as she said, "I remember you, you have a son, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, "he's away at college now."
And we went into total Mom mode, chatting about how her son and my son have grown up, how we miss having them home, and so on.
She started to fill in the paperwork, asking my height, my age, etc. and picked up a chart to look up some of the necessary data.
"Let's see," she says, as she went through the various rows and columns, "Height, weight, age, female . . . "
The fog enveloped me even though "what do I do now?" was racing through my brain, especially since I knew what was coming next, hooking stuff to my chest wall.
"O.K.," she said, "take off your top."
As I lifted my top, she gasped.
Turning toward the window, she said, "I thought I heard a scream outside."
She turned back and went back to attaching sensor pads to my now obviously male but hairless (I shave) chest.
The doctor arrived and ran the test which I believe I passed with flying colors, not too shabby for an over-the hill broad.
Afterward, as she removed the pads, I said, "I'm sorry for the confusion, but you were right earlier, I am a woman, I just have some guy parts. My doctor doesn't know that though."
She said, "Don't worry, you're very far from being alone, we have quite a few patients like you."
I told her how wonderful she was and left.
Since my doctor knows me as a male, I wore a men's polo shirt that is a sort of bright magenta color with black and white stripes and, because I wanted something soft for the workout, a pair of pocketless women's pants. No makeup, hair in a low pony tail, in effect, short of a suit and tie, something I plan as a "guy look."
It failed.
The technician escorted me into the room and, as I put my purse and jacket on the chair, said, "Oh! I like your purse!"
"Thanks," I said, immediately beginning to fall into the pink fog, "its kind of an old one."
She had me sit on the examining table as she said, "I remember you, you have a son, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, "he's away at college now."
And we went into total Mom mode, chatting about how her son and my son have grown up, how we miss having them home, and so on.
She started to fill in the paperwork, asking my height, my age, etc. and picked up a chart to look up some of the necessary data.
"Let's see," she says, as she went through the various rows and columns, "Height, weight, age, female . . . "
The fog enveloped me even though "what do I do now?" was racing through my brain, especially since I knew what was coming next, hooking stuff to my chest wall.
"O.K.," she said, "take off your top."
As I lifted my top, she gasped.
Turning toward the window, she said, "I thought I heard a scream outside."
She turned back and went back to attaching sensor pads to my now obviously male but hairless (I shave) chest.
The doctor arrived and ran the test which I believe I passed with flying colors, not too shabby for an over-the hill broad.
Afterward, as she removed the pads, I said, "I'm sorry for the confusion, but you were right earlier, I am a woman, I just have some guy parts. My doctor doesn't know that though."
She said, "Don't worry, you're very far from being alone, we have quite a few patients like you."
I told her how wonderful she was and left.