GET YOUR DAILY CRACKUP!

I am sure that I am like most every woman out there who hates those yearly appointments with the gynecologist.  Usually it is just in and out (no pun intended) and another six months or so will go by before we have to make a return visit appointment.

I had particularly taken my time, four years in fact, in between appointments.  When I was ready to go I found that my usual gyno-doc had retired and I had to find another.  My motto was always ‘the older the better’, and my reasoning was that I didn’t want someone to be rooting around down there who just might know some of the same people I did, unprofessionally that is.  I felt safer with an elderly man who possibly had seen so many vagina’s in their span of time that one looked variably undifferent than another.  (I am not saying that my logic was justified, but it just made me feel better.)

So, I had been asking around within my family for information on their choices of gynocologists and my grandmother referred me to her doctor.  I had asked her if he was young or old and she said he was an older gentleman, and on her advice I made the appointment with him.

The day arrived, and it was a sweltering July morning when I got up and got ready for my unspeakable appointment.  I remember my mother having a fit because I hadn’t made a fuss over my hair.  My reply was that he won’t be looking at my hair.  Maybe that was the first sign that something was going to go awry.  But I arrived at the clinic, hot and sweaty and just wanting to get it over with.

The nurse who led me into the room was a cheerful woman about my mother’s age and the place was very clean and semi-new.  She handed me one of those paper robes and told me to undress fully.  I was stymied for a moment when I couldn’t figure out the correct way to put the thing on once I removed my clothing, so, I just put my arms through the holes and hoped I had it close to correct.

The wait seemed long as I sat there.  My embarassment mounting as time ticked on.  I began to think of every possible scenario in my head: did I smell?  should I leave my shoes on?  was he going to find something wrong down there? (the list went on and on)  I decided that i may be best to remove my shoes.  So I did, and was affronted by the worst feet-stink I had ever exuded.  And I mean it was really bad.  My shoes were the slip on canvas type and obviously I should have worn socks, but it just wasn’t a top priority when I dressed earlier that morning.

Right next to the examination table was the sink, and I thought that if I washed my feet I would be doing the doc a service, so I put my feet into the sink and began to lather them up.  Just at that time the doc and that same nurse entered the room, and he was young!  About the same age as I was and handsome to boot!  Both of them were wearing the worst expression I could imagine.  And I felt my face heat up with embarrassment.  I offered my, what I thought was logical, rebuttal for why I had my feet in the sink and neither of them said a word.  Total professionalism all the way I have to say.

I assumed the position on the table, my dripping feet in the stirrups, my body profusely sweating, soaking through the robe onto the paper liner on the table, and I waited for my next instruction.  They prepared the tools necessary for the invasion of my body and I tried to get as relaxed as I could.  I put both of my hands behind my head, out of comfort you see.  The doc sat upon his four-wheeled spinning stool and assumed his position between my upraised knees, the nurse an onlooker over his shoulder.

The nurse noticed that I had my hands laced behind my head and asked me to place them comfortably at my sides which I did immediately.  The doc announced that he was then going to be touching my bottom.  I waited.  It never happened.

He raised his head over the paper robe and asked me to slide a little more toward him on the table.  And just then, with my sweat lubricating through the two layers of paper between me and the vinyl table, I pulled with my hands.  I went much too far and that was when it happened…

I had slid so far and so fast that the doc had no chance of getting out of the way, and my privates smacked him right in the face.  I just thought I would die, right there in his office.  The nurse stifled a laugh as best she could.  The doc, ever so professional, slowly raised his hand to wipe the end of his nose and mouth.  (Not that I am a fountain of fluids but I am sure if he hadn’t he would have smelled fish the whole day through.)  At that very moment I wanted to bolt out of the door and leave whatever clothing and dignity I had shed behind without looking back.  It was a nightmare of the highest degree.

The doctor finished his exam and stood, patted me on the knee and said I could dress.  I couldn’t look him in the face, it was just too much to bear.  I just knew that once I was out of his sight he would for sure tell his nurses and receptionist that if I ever called for a return appointment it would be best to refer me somewhere else.  Hell, I wanted nothing more than to forget him and what had transpired.

The two left the room and I hurriedly dressed.  I stood with my ear to the door, listening for any sign of life outside the door.  I wanted to exit as covertly as I could, no way I could face anyone after that fiasco.  I heard nothing, no voices, no footsteps, so I opened the door a crack and peered out into the hallway.  It was empty.  Quickly, I stepped into the carpeted hall and tried to sneak out. (My bill was already paid by my husband’s insurance so I saw no reason to return to the front of the office.)  The hallway elled to the right and I slowly made my way around the corner.  Right when I thought I was in the clear, I could see the exit sign, I was almost home free, the doctor, still handsome and young, stepped out of another room and ran smack into me.

He grinned wide and excused himself as I stooped to pick up my dropped purse and said, “You are going the wrong way, you need to see my receptionist and schedule another appointment for follow up.”  He gently took my elbow and led me in the direction I wished to avoid.

He chatted noncommittally with me while we retraced my path through the office.  He told me that he enjoyed meeting me, (yeah, right!) and he looked forward to my return.  (He looked forward to another appointment like this one?  I couldn’t figure it out!  No one should want to be accosted by a sweating, foot washer like me.)   But his eyes showed no malice or contempt.  I made another appointment, and exited the building on an almost run.  I was so horrified and ashamed that I sat in my car for a few minutes waiting for my heart to slow.  When it did I left and returned home.

I filled my husband and my mother in on what had transpired at my hellascious gyno visit and they found it quite comical.  At the time I did not share their hilarity.  I felt horrible and I was sure the doc felt violated.

All in all, I never returned to his office for that follow up.  He called my grandmother the day I canceled the appointment asking if I was alright.  Of course he would remember me, I had almost suction-cupped his face to my vagina.  Now I laugh and share this story with anyone who will listen since it is quite funny.  I hope anyone who reads this and has had similar experiences with doctors will share in my plight and find the courage to laugh at adversity.  It has helped me cope with the utter embarrassment.