This is how it goes:
You go into the office, sign a form or two. You wait a bit and when your name is called you go behind a door. A nurse takes your blood pressure. You go into the bathroom and pee all over a plastic cup. Some of it gets inside the cup. You clean it off and give it back to the nurse. Go into another room, switch your clothes for big paper towels. Your doctor knocks, enters, rubs two hands all over you and inside you to check for abnormal cell growth, and finally, pries open your vag to scrape some cells off your cervix. You both chat about prescriptions, and your doctor exits. Switch back your clothes. Pay the receptionist. Wave goodbye, till next year, goodbye fair Gyno, goodbye...
It's not as easy as one might imagine, to get yourself in the position. You have to push yourself to the fatal edge of the table. Then you put your heels on cushions about three feet apart. When the Gyno calls action!, you have to relax your thighs all the way down. Without question, the most vulnerable positions for a naked human. My doctor always assures me that only patients who are yogis and Olympic gymnasts can do this the right way. (And I believe her, because you believe anything coming from a stranger who annually touches your uterus, and can determine something from what is felt. I mean, honestly.) As my knees pretend to play it cool, my face is pointed directly at a nick in the ceiling board, donning an expression I can't be held responsible for. It's somewhere between masked discomfort and questioning all of humanity. Thankfully, the doctor's attention is centered on my oven, and not my heinous visage.
My Gyno is an Angel. She was sent down from Heaven, speculum in hand, with a barely perceptible sexuality and most matter-of-fact frankness in all of Creation. She talks to me about my generic birth control during my breast exam, and never really pauses until my chart is filled out. She came into my life after a truly insane experience at a Planned Parenthood: my first attempt at the "Annual" (as they say in the biz) including yelling, crying, and not a pap to be smeared. I failed.
Angel Gyno rescued me.
No, I haven't changed partners, Angel Gyno.
No, I have no problems with my current brand of crazy pills- I mean, birth control.
Yes, I'll schedule my next Annual.
Go ahead, scrape away. If I had cervical cancer, it would already be too late to save me, wouldn't it? That's okay, Angel Gyno, Vag Soldier, Queen of Pap. We'll get through it, together.
1 comment:
My gyno experiences could be written about in a great book called "Things Fall Apart"
I think that my baby should just pop out after all the pre-baby bad luck I have had.
Have I told you about my clinic disaster that ended in an exam by the hottest man I have seen in real lfe?
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