OBGY—NO! My First (Last) Visit To The Gyno

Lana K / (Shutterstock.com)
Lana K / (Shutterstock.com)

I’m 25 and this was my first (and probably last) visit to the gyno. In honor of this experience, I decided to live-write it on my iPhone.

The waiting room was filled with pregnant women and kids. It’s like the most uncomfortable place to mentally prepare yourself for someone looking at your vagina. It should be darker and they should be serving alcohol. This crying little boy is making me want to get on birth control even though I don’t really need it. His mother tells him that if he doesn’t stop crying she will have the doctor give him an injection. That seems like a smart thing to tell your kid. He’s going to grow up thinking shots are a punishment instead of a way to keep you from getting sick. It already hurts enough physically; he doesn’t need any more fear.

They call my name and take me back to the office. The nurse seems nice. She asks me to step on the scale, but as soon as I do it shuts off and they can’t get it to start back up. Off to a great start.

Once in the exam room the nurse goes over my paper work with me. No I haven’t smoked, except that one time when I was drunk and even then I don’t remember it, I just remember my throat hurt like hell the next morning. She thinks I’m joking. I hate smoking so I would never admit to doing it unless it was actually true. How often do you drink? Daily. Not joking either. She hands me two glorified paper towels and tells me to take everything off. This is weird. I hate being naked in the shower let alone in a sterile foreign doctors office.

The interior office walls are very much like my new outfit, paper-thin, so I can hear the kids in the waiting room still. And now I am, well, naked. Wearing a vest made of paper and a giant paper towel covering my crotch. It feels a little bit like those toilet seat covers, which grosses me out. I’m so nervous I’m sweating. I can barely let a chick I’m into look at my vag in the dark comfort of my own home after 4-5 drinks. I seriously contemplate leaving. My heart is racing so fast, mostly because I just looked at the tray with the giant phallic looking thing I’m about to get violated with. The nurse told me not to look and I clearly didn’t listen. Shit.

Really don’t want to be here. And why is that kid still crying? Oh crap, I just ripped the sheet covering my bottom half, now I have to try and hold the rip closed as well as the vest. This should be easier. I should be more comfortable. I’m going to die of ovarian cancer because I’m not coming back here ever. Maybe I just won’t have sex anymore, would that make a difference? As of this moment it almost seems worth it.

Just sweated through the towel vest thing. This is uncomfortable. And now I probably smell and am gross which means it’s the perfect time to have a fully clothed stranger feel me up. The nurses all just laughed outside. Are they watching me on hidden camera? Does the paper vest make me look fat? Seriously, what’s happening and why is this taking forever?

My hands are so sweaty they are sticking to my phone, which is making it hard to type this. The only thing worse than the doctor not being here yet, is the thought of what’s going to happen when she does get in here. I feel like I’m having a heart attack.

There’s a knock on the door and the doctor sticks her head in. She’s attractive, which means I don’t have to count this as ugly sex. Suddenly I remember that I’m naked. I try to think of something witty to say to break the ice but I’m so scared that I forget how to breathe let alone talk. The doctor introduces herself but two seconds later I forget her name. Typical pattern for when I’m about to let someone inside me. I think it’s just a reflex at this point.

She tells me to lie down and reaches for my phone. There is a slight power battle over if I will give up my phone, but finally I do. It’s like my life force is pulled away. Crap, now I’m going to have to try and remember everything that happens.

The doctor talks to me about birth control. I remind her, in case she hasn’t noticed the ten jokes I made about it on my form, that I’m gay and don’t need it. I once again contemplate saying something funny, but I swallow it back down.

First up is the breast exam. “OK, just pretend she’s a gay man,” I told myself. The doctor made small talk about how to check for lumps and what a breast should feel like. Suppressed the urge to say, “I’m kind of a boob expert myself.” No weird lumps, guess these girls are doing all right.

Then I heard the dreaded words, “Scoot on down to the end of the table.” Holy shit, it was time! I started sweating again. Feet went into the stirrups. I would have run had I not been naked, crap…trapped again. “Alright, it’s going to be a little cold and uncomfortable but I’ll be as quick as possible.” That bitch stole my line! She was right however; it’s uncomfortable and then…OUCH. I jumped backwards. “Fuck that hurts!” I yelled. Then I remembered the walls are paper-thin and I was going to have to make eye contact with the nurses when I left.

When she pulled the torture device out, she let me know she was going to go back in with her fingers to finish up the exam. Line she stole number two. This was more awkward because I could see her face as she did it. I tried to avoid her gaze as I silently prayed for it to be over. Is this what sex with a man feels like? Then, it actually was over. She handed me a towel and told me I was still a little wet. What a pro, I’m going to borrow that.

She shook my hand and said, “Nice job. It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Actually, it was awful.”

“Well, good thing you don’t have to see me for a year.”

“No offense, but I will not be counting the days.” Then she left. Still don’t know her name. Kind of wished she had held me after.

I put my clothes back on. Now I had to walk out of this office pretending I didn’t just get invaded in the room. It was like a walk of shame I had to pay for. What’s worse is that I will be eagerly sitting by my phone waiting for them to call me with my results. I hate being the needy bitch in the relationship.

As I went back out to the nurse’s station, I tried not to look them in the eye. They knew what just went on in there and they didn’t do anything to stop it. Animals.

It’s settled: I’m going to die from ovarian cancer. And I’m not going to have sex. Ever. Again. Probably. TC mark

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