If you live in a major city with two insurances companies feuding, you’ll understand my struggle. In the city I’m from, if you use one insurance company, you can’t go to a hospital/doctor represented by the other (unless you have an emergency). Of course, the gynecologist that I’d gone to for years was represented by the opposite insurance company that I had, so they dropped me.
Because I had no loyalty with any of the doctors, I told them it didn’t matter which doctor I saw at the new office I planned to attend.
On the day of my appointment, I sat filling out paperwork while a female nurse and a rather attractive male sat chit-chatting on the other side of the window. Once my paperwork was completed, the nurse took me into an exam room where she drilled me with super personal questions. She gave me a flimsy robe and a sheet and told me to put this on once I was undressed and left the room.
Sitting on the table in nothing but this flimsy robe, imagine my surprise when there was a knock at the door and the rather attractive man from the front desk turned out to be my new gyno. My face turned about 50 shades of red when he shook my hand.
How could I get this unlucky?!
Then came round two of the super personal and awkward questions:
“When was the last time you were sexually active?” And I thought, not for some time sir if it’s really any of your business! When really, it kind of was his business.
“Are you planning on becoming sexually active?” Well yes sir, that’s the plan. Unfortunately, my current track record with men wasn’t all that great.
“Are you on birth control? No? Are you interested in it?” No, no I wasn’t interested in birth control in my early 30s when I wasn’t even sexually active!
Of course, this poor man was simply trying to do his job. All I could think was, Mr. Handsome doctor is about to look INSIDE of my vajay. Not just at it, inside of it! The humiliation was evident as I was still tightly wrapped in my flimsy robe and sheet. The powers that be must simply hate me, I kept thinking.
Each question he asked, I made a joke, simply prolonging the inevitable until the nurse came back in the room and it was time to get down to business.
If you’re a woman, you know that you always put the robe on with the opening in front. Mr. Handsome doctor opens the robe to start pressing on my stomach.
Him: “Does this hurt?”
Me: “No.” But my dignity does.
Him: “What about this?”
Me: “Also no.” But yes, my dignity still does.
I’m trying to keep the top of the robe closed the whole time he is doing this, obviously in no way whatsoever relaxed! Then it’s time for my breast exam. Shoot me now, please. Because let’s just say, after this breast exam, I literally have no dignity left in me in regards to this man.
He COMPLETELY opens my robe from top to bottom and tells me that he is going to conduct a breast exam. Got it. Figured this out the first time he said it. Why, why did he need the whole damn robe open to work on one? Under these bad fluorescent lights, this man saw more of me than any guy had in several years. I succumbed to the humiliation and let him do his job. At one point, I thought, a man hasn’t touched me this intimately in a really long time. Then, I instantly regretted that thought because not only was it pathetically unprofessional, but I immediately turned red all over again as this poor man was doing his job.
I closed my eyes in hopes that it was all just a dream and that I’d wake covered in my own sheets in the privacy of my own bedroom. Nope. It was definitely happening. I noticed he paused for a few seconds on one side of the exam, but I didn’t question it because I just wanted the exam to be over with. (He was looking at a tattoo on my rib cage I figured out weeks later).
Then it was time for the pelvic exam. I clutched the robe together around my top half and scooted towards the end of the table.
What makes a young, very attractive man, want to look at vaginas all day? He didn’t have a ring (I checked). And, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was making him just as nervous as he was making me. I only say this, because Mr. Handsome gyno stuck the duck contraption inside of me, swabbed me, took out the duck contraption and then the nurse said, “Don’t you have to do the (insert some medical term I can’t recall here) as well?”
Mr. Handsome gyno blushed, “Whoops, yep. Going to have to stick this in again.”
I almost lost it in a fit of hysterical laughter. The man forgot to do what he was in there to do! This WOULD happen to me. So, in the duck contraption goes again. This time, he remembers to do what he is in there to do. But, it doesn’t end there. Every single female reading this knows that the very last thing that a gyno does before finishing the exam is inserts their fingers inside of you to make sure it “feels right” while pushing on your lower abdomen. I remember thinking, “yep, this is the most action I’ve gotten in a while” before turning the darkest shade of red I’ve ever been in my life.
When all was said and done, I put my clothes back on and practically ran out of the office.
Ironically, just a few weeks ago I received a notice that the primary doctor was retiring and that the office would be closing. Looks like I’ll need to find yet another, hopefully female, gyno.