I guess I need to catch everyone up on the gyno appointment that I talked about in a previous blog. The transmission issue clouded my mind of anything else. Now, I will never, ever apologize for being a woman, but I do apologize to any male reader I might have had before all the vagina talk that is fixing to take place. However, the last thing men want is for their woman is for them to have a sick vagina, therefore, doctor appointments are a must fellas.
I show up for my appointment 15 minutes early, because that's what "over achievers" do and I sign in. I speak with the front desk lady about my insurance, medical records from my previous doc and get my photo made for my file. I finish up with all the information and take my seat in the waiting area only to realize that I had dropped a piece of chocolate from my cereal bar on my neck and it had melted. It now looks like a grotesque mole-growth on the side of my neck in my chart photo...great...I hate my vagina already.
They call my name and I go back to the scales, take everything off I can while still being appropriate and then explain to the nurse how I've lost a bunch of weight and I work out, and....she wasn't amused. She leads me back to my room and asks me about problems and my medical history. Really? There are still questions that WEREN'T asked on the 6 page, online questionnaire of shame? Apparently so...we discussed a recent problem I've been having and I will spare any details on here, and then I am directed to put on the cloth gown. "Open side in the front" she explains, as if I am unfamiliar with procedure.
Now I sit, cold, partially exposed, listening to the soft music playing over the intercom system and waiting for the doctor. There is a slight knock at the door and she enters swiftly. "Hi, I'm Dr. Bla bla, how is every thing going today?" It's here that there is really no turning back. I glance at my clothes, neatly folded and sitting within arms reach thinking that I can grab them and run....I stay."Everything is good!" Even if my vagina was on fire I couldn't tell her about it. I don't know this woman, and with the things she is fixing to do to me, I'd rather not be BFF's about it.
We discuss normal gyno stuff then she requests I open my gown and bring my bottom to the edge of the exam table. This is BY FAR the most vulnerable position in the world. I am a control freak and allowing a perfect stranger the access and angle to violate me, not to mention paying her to do it, just seems unfair. A nice steak dinner over candlelight first seems much more acceptable for allowing someone this close and personal to my lovely lady parts.
It always seems strange to me that the doctor wants to talk to you while they are down there. Striking up a conversation while you are staring at someones vagina doesn't seem like the first appropriate thing. Is there a class in vagina doctor school that teaches you how to hold a conversation while doing a pelvic exam? I'd rather the awkward silence suffocate my shame. She then moves into position to begin the exam when the song "That Lovin' Feeling" flowed melodiously from the overhead speaker. Perfect, while your down there...please make me a man...
Just the beautification process that women go through is ridiculous. We make sure that our eyes are bright, hair is shiny, clothes are presentable, and shoes match our belt. We dye our hair, wax our mustaches, shave our legs and pluck our eyebrows. We then factor in children, a job, and getting our parts poked and prodded once a year to ensure health. My only hope is someday the invent a "do-it-yourself" kit or to allow exam rooms with dim lights and an open bar, maybe a name like "Vodka and Vagina's"? It has a nice ring to it, don't ya think?