I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, considering I'm a grown-ass woman and all, but I avoid gynecological exams like it's my JOB, yo. (And since I currently don't have a job, I have plenty of time to dedicate to my avoidance.)
I know that in this day and age of the Vagina Monologues and Femi-Nazis and Girl Power that I should be out there just like, "Yeah... this is my vaj. Wanna see it? Her name is Tiffany" or some such shit but I'm not quite there, ya know?
In fact, I'm nowhere near there. I'm so far from there that in terms of time and distance I haven't even been born yet.
This isn't a new thing with me.... I've been actively avoiding the gyno since I knew what one was. I actually didn't have my first Lady Parts exam until I was 5 months pregnant with my first child, and only then because I had no other choice. He was coming out of that end one way or the other whether I liked it or not. I'd made my bed... now I needed to climb up on the table, plant my feet in the stirrups, and lie in it.
(I made my sister go with me. Yes, I AM that much of a coward.)
I honestly don't know why I'm so afraid. Millions if women do this every day with no hand-holding, no bribery, no problem. They're all, "Gotta go to the Box Doctor today.... we'll meet later for coffee" and off they go, ho hum, ready to have some dude with a miner's light on his forehead get friendly with their nether regions and crank them open with an icy cold speculum. "Helloooooo in there....."
(They should probably send in a canary first to make sure it's safe.)
I'm not ashamed of my girl parts... as far as I can tell they are functional and normal and according to the porn I've seen (which granted, isn't a lot... perhaps I should watch more?) look pretty much the way they're supposed to. I mean, I don't have a nose or teeth or anything untoward growing out of my business. No one has ever complained about it or commented on it in a negative way, like "Dude.... the fuck is THAT?" during moments of intimacy. So I assume everything is cool down under the hood, know what I'm sayin'?
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| Like this, only on my vagina. |
I've never looked at it with a hand mirror or named it or drawn a picture of it, but I am accepting on good faith that as far as vaginas go, mine is serviceable and aesthetically correct.
(While I'm on the topic I just need to throw this out there before I forget: Guys, stop calling it a pussy, okay? Just... eww. I can guarantee that we do not refer to it that way, EVER. Except for your benefit because for some reason that's the only word you're comfortable with. If we say "Would you like to touch my vagina?" you're all, "Your what? Huh?" Trust me on this. I've never been in a doctor's office and had him say, "Okay, let's take a look at your pussy now..." or been in a conversation with one of my girlfriends about Female Trouble and had them say, "So does your pussy ever feel like something something something...." because WE DON'T SAY THAT AND NEITHER SHOULD YOU. This has been a public service announcement.)
(Also? It's pronounced "men-stru-a-tion" not "men-i-stra-tion." FYI.)
I have managed to avoid going in for my Well Woman Exam (doctor talk for pap smear, rectal probe, and boobie fondling) for 5 years. I'm not proud of that... in fact, I'm pretty ashamed of that... but there ya go. I don't know what it is about dropping trou, laying flat on my back with my ass scootched to the end of the table and my legs high up in the air with my feet pointing east and west, but I would rather have my fingers cut off with a dull, rusty butter knife under the hot, hot sun than find myself in that position.
First there are the fears:
1) What if I fart?
2) What if I pee a little?
3) What if there is a terrible smell that I'm not aware of?
4) What if there is something hideously, horribly wrong and I need to be scheduled for an emergency vagectomy?
5) What if, God forbid, I shart??
Then, of course, is the knowledge that at some point the doctor will... willll.... stick his/her finger up my butt.
I don't like that. And I don't know why you think it's necessary.
Recently I was fired by my doctor due to my unwillingness to let her look at my pee-pee. I may or may not have cancelled on four Well Woman exams and apparently, this upset her. She sent me a letter that, translated, basically said, "Dear Danielle, Since you won't let me look at your vagina and touch your boobies, we need to break up. Love, Doctor."
I'm not gonna lie, I was a little miffed. It kind of reminded me of the worst date I have ever been on IN MY LIFE when a guy I went to high school with (Dear People I Went To High School With, He was a red-headed asshole and I think he drove a VW bug. If you know who he is and keep in touch let him know I have a List and his name is at the top) took me to a cheap-ass Mexican restaurant in the middle of nowhere (this really happened, you guys), spent $2 on a tostada for me, and then demanded that I put out because he bought me dinner.
Two dollars.
Seriously.
When I told him NO, in no uncertain terms, he told me that a girl I knew (who hated me, OBVIOUSLY), had PROMISED HIM that I would blow him if he bought me dinner. (Her name is on the list, too. I've been keeping my eye on her on Facebook and long story short, I'm super glad she got real fat because that'll make it easier to catch her when I finally get around to hunting her ass down.)
When I informed him that not only was she a liar, but also a whore, he dropped me off alongside a canal bank and left me stranded in the boonies.
Yeah. That's how being fired by my doctor for not showing her my goodies made me feel. It took me back down a dark, dark road, you guys. A dark road that started with a lousy tostada and ended with me not putting out and being kicked out of the car.
(I can laugh about it now but at the time it was beyond humiliating and devastating.)
(Okay, I lied. It is still beyond humiliating and devastating and I still can't laugh about it.)
Since I am now Of The Age where having a doctor available to write me prescriptions is more than just convenient, it's actually a matter of Life and Death, I didn't have the luxury of procrastinating (which is something I actually DO enjoy and am really, really good at). I had to haul out the phone book and start making calls.
As luck would have it, I found a doctor who is literally less than a block away from my house. If I fell out of a tree and broke my leg she could hear me screaming and come running, she's that close. (Considering how frequently I fall and hurt myself, that's incredibly handy.) I made my Let's Get To Know Each Other appointment and drove the .09890 miles to her office. (Yes, I drove, even though I can see the building from my house. Shut up. It was hot and I was tired. I was running late. Plus I didn't want to get sweaty. I wanted to make a good impression. Okay fine, and I'm lazy. There. Happy now?)
I toodled into the examination room and played Twenty Questions with the nurse, who weighed me (whore) and checked my blood pressure (high). As she was preparing to leave the room she said "Doctor will be with you shortly" and tossed me a cotton gown.
Just hold the motherfuckin' phone.
Me: "Wait. Wait. Wait. What??"
Nurse: "??"
Me: "And you want me to do WHAT with this?"
Nurse: *blink* *blink*
Me: *holding the gown with one finger and raising my eyebrows in an "I don't think so" way*
Nurse: "You need to disrobe and put on the gown so Doctor can examine you."
Me: "I am here just to get established as a patient, not to have a complete physical."
Nurse: *looking frightened* "Doctor will be with you shortly."
That's right, bitch. Hurry along now. Don't MAKE me kick your ass.
When the doctor entered the room she found me fully clothed, sitting on the wooden chair and reading my Kindle.
We chatted about the weather, my tattoos, where I was from, and why I was there.
And then?
It happened.
Her: "So I need you to disrobe and put on this gown so I can examine you."
Me: "I am not here for a physical."
Her: "I hate to disagree with you, but you are."
Me: "Noooo.... I'm just here to establish myself as a patient."
Her: "Well, that's how we establish patients here. We give them physicals."
Me: *grasping at straws* "That's not how *I* do it."
Her: "You're not in Kansas anymore, sweetheart. That's how *I* do it."
Holy fuck.
As luck would have it, God saw fit to hand me an ex-Army doctor with a sweet little grandmotherly cookie-baking face and a back-bone of steel.
AND as luck would also have it, God handed HER a dedicated procrastinator with a sweet little middle-aged cookie-eating face and the stubbornness of a mule.
This could be interesting.
Me: "Ummm.... errr.... I'm not prepared for that."
Her: "How so?"
Me: "Ummmm.... I need to prepare.... things."
Her: "What things?"
Me:
Her:
Me: "Uhhh..."
Her: ?
Me: "Ummm... my vagina."
Her: *snorting with laughter* "How do you plan on preparing your vagina? Are you going to marinate it? Have a talk with it?"
Me: "You know.... grooming and stuff."
Her: "Honey, I'm 60 years old. I don't care what your vagina looks like."
Me: "Riiight.... but I do."
Her: "Will there be any vajazzling going on or are you just needing time to get a wax?"
Me: "No vajazzling. Just... upkeep."
Her: "Okay. I am making you a Well Woman Exam appointment for October 31. That gives you four months to trim, wax, buff and vajazzle. You also might want to do something with your breasts because you will also be getting a mammogram. And we will be taking some labs. No excuses."
Me: "Okay, good, I'll be there."
Her: "Damn right you will or else I will come get you. I know where you live."
Note to self: The jig is up.
Shit.
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| Well, hell! If OPRAH can do it, SO CAN I!!! |
