7 years ago I gave birth in front of an audience of 4-6 people. (You'll have to forgive me if I can't remember exactly how many nurses were in the room, I was a little pre-occupied at the time.) The point is- you would think that the previous experience would make going to the gynecologist, less uncomfortable. Yea. Not so much.
But it has to be done. Right? Now, most women will tell you they feel more comfortable with a certain kind of doctor. Like for instance my Dr. is quite easy on the eyes. Some women find that intimidating. But seeing a hot Dr. doesn’t make me feel any more or less comfortable about being naked in his office than the ugly Dr. I saw 3 years ago. I tried a woman M.D., a man OBGYN that was older than dirt, and one Dr. looked like he just hopped of his Harley. As far as I’m concerned it does not matter who your Dr. is or what he/she looks like because they all have to see you naked.
So the nurse calls me back. An older lady with a fist full of diamonds, she begins asking questions about my period and what drugs if any am I on. Then she weighs me, takes my temperature, and passes me off to the next nurse. This kid looks like she is barely out of high school and with a straight face she hands me two pieces of paper that I should change into. “Put this one on like a vest, make sure it opens in the front. Then wrap the other one around you and push the yellow button on the wall when you are ready.” She actually had the nerve to sound cheerful about the paper vest. As if it were a Vera Wang original that I would have great anticipation about wearing. A FUCKING PAPER VEST. Luckily, for her I was painfully aware of the attire for this visit and I did not feel the need to put little miss neo-nurse in her place.
There I am swaddled in origami and I hop up on the table awaiting certain humiliation. Then I remembered the yellow button. The I’m naked you can come in now yellow button. With one hand hanging onto my paper fashion vest I lean back as far as I can nearly rolling right off the table just to push that damn button. Nothing left to do but wait. One would hope that in an office where women are regularly required to wear paper that the heat would be at an appropriate level for not freezing ones nipples off. Hope indeed.
In walks Dr. Hotass all chipper with his flunky nursette. “How have you been?” “Where are you working now?” “How old is Angelbaby now?” I wanted to say “Hey buddy, I’m naked could we get this over with?!?” Soon enough he has me lay back and begins the breast exam. He probably read in some medical journal that making eye contact during the breast exam makes women feel more at ease. But all I was thinking was Fuck off and quit squishing my breast like an over ripe tomato! With that ordeal behind us we moved on to the pelvic exam.
I am convinced that the stirrups they put you in have no purpose except to keep you from kicking the doctor in the face when he tries to make small talk and/or asks you a stupid question like: “Are you o.k?” YOU JUST WEDGED MY HONEY POT OPEN WITH A PAIR OF ICY TONGS! ARE YOU SERIOUSELY ASKING IF I’M OK WITH THAT? My actual reply went more like “yea, I’m fine.” This part of the visit doesn’t take very long but for me, and most women I’ve talked to, having some man you barely know stare at your hoo-ha for any length of time feels like an eternity.
When it’s over, the doctor and his legally required nurse/witness leave so that you can get dressed again. Which seems odd considering they both just saw every inch of my privacy. Smart. Very smart, how they only prescribe birth control with 11 refills so that you have to come back once a year. Otherwise the yearly exam for women would be virtually non-existent. But you can’t really bitch at your doctor. After all, no one forced you to make the appointment.