The Utter Ease of Personal Disregard for Doctor's Visits After 40

I wrote this last year at this time, but it bears repeating as we approach a new year.

It started off like any other doctor’s appointment.

Or it would have if I’d visited the doctor since my last baby was born.

It was a general check-up: you should exercise but only if it’s sustainable, great job quitting smoking in your twenties, good blood pressure, here’s what I would screen for if I were you…..oh, and want to do your OB-GYN check-up while you’re here?

That was the least of my worries, since in the four years between getting oopsie pregnant for the first time, having to end a second nonviable pregnancy, finally having my second child (sometimes called the rainbow baby), and ending some whirlwind maternity years by getting a tubal ligation (inaccurately referred to as “getting your tubes tied”), I’d been to the lady parts doctor more often than I’d been to a general doctor visit in my adult life.

But hey, I was there already, trying to use up all my great expat insurance while I had it, so might as well give the gynecologist a go.

While I got my blood drawn, it struck me as odd that we purposely chose our living conditions because of its close proximity to this clinic, yet I’d never been here for myself, short of getting a flu shot. Every time it occurred to me that I should go see the general doctor for a check-up, especially since I’m (just) over 40, I thought, yeah, sure, I’ll do it soon, then promptly forgot about it. Not until my friend Leonora from back in the US urged her fellow Mom friends to take care of themselves in the new year did I write it into my planner.

It didn’t happen two weeks in a row, and so I kept moving the date. More things came up, the kids needed this, our household needed that, I didn’t know when I’d have the time, certainly not this week…..and then, I just made the call.

I could have rescheduled the OB-GYN part of the appointment, but I figured hey, I’m here. Let’s do it. I know this part well.

Actually, the part I know well is running through the basics, getting the exam or pap, then walking away. It wasn’t until the doctor asked about my last period that I admitted it had come two weeks early with cramps, which I normally never have. Her eyebrows shot up as asked how bad the cramps were.

“Uh, I was in bed all day and couldn’t stay awake?”

Yeah, I probably should have seen how that was odd.

<div class="
      image-block-outer-wrapper
      layout-caption-below
      design-layout-inline
      combination-animation-none
      individual-animation-none
      individual-text-animation-none
    ">

  

  
    <figure class="
          sqs-block-image-figure
          intrinsic
        " style="max-width:1024px">
      
    
    

    
      
        
      <div class="image-block-wrapper">
        <div class="sqs-image-shape-container-element
          
      
    
          has-aspect-ratio
        " style="position: relative;padding-bottom:150%;overflow: hidden">
            
              <img src="https://cindy-overthinks-media.ghost.io/content/images/2025/10/45baf-period-tracker-1024x1536-1.jpg" alt><img class="thumb-image" src="https://cindy-overthinks-media.ghost.io/content/images/2025/10/45baf-period-tracker-1024x1536-1-1.jpg" alt>
            
        </div>
      </div>
    
      
    

    
  
    </figure>
  

</div>

So that is how I ended up in the stirrups for the first time in four years, getting an ultrasound from the inside, then hearing the doctor and nurse speak in Mandarin about that thing you see on the screen that shouldn’t be there. It wasn’t until I spoke up and asked, “What is it?” that the doctor told me I had a small cyst on my ovary. (She called it a “cyst-er”, which made me smile and feel better about it.) It’s probably benign, and I just need to monitor it. It’s not a big deal, but it is a deal. It is there. And I almost tried to ignore it because I, the primary caretaker of two young kids with a full-time job in a foreign city trying to mitigate new infections of Covid-19 –well, it isn’t convenient for me to get sick. Even if I didn’t have the job, it wouldn’t be convenient, because then I wouldn’t have an ayi  (Chinese word to describe a nanny) who could watch the kids that day I had to stay in bed and couldn’t stay awake.

My point is, many parents –especially mothers — neglect their own health and preventative care in order to take care of their families. Someone or something else always comes first. If I hadn’t heeded the advice of my good friend from half a world away, I might have just…. not gone to the doctor. And then this thing that I  need to get rid of might have grown unnoticed, one more symptom of getting older, like back pain or bad knees.

Especially while I am in a situation and a country where I have good health insurance, I need to use it. I might have put off those tests even more if I didn’t know for sure that an MRI in the United States could cost anywhere from $900-3,000 even with insurance, according to my friends’ experiences.

If these last two years taught us nothing, I hope they taught us that the life we take for granted is quite fragile in reality, and we must embrace every moment of joy that we have.

We should also include regular doctor visits in there.

A version of this essay was originally published on Jingkids International.