You know that bathroom scene in Sex and the City where Charlotte is looking at her ahem? I don’t know why was thinking about that when I signed in at my gynecologist’s, but I was. Why can’t it be like that? You walk into the doctor’s office and she gives you a compact mirror and a manual. I mean, how hard could it be right? It’s always awkward knowing this is going to happen, I never know what to say.  Luckily, my doctor is all about business and she just gets to the point as soon as walk in.  She gives me a gown and shows me to the (un)dressing room and I can’t hear a word she’s saying because all I can hear is the sound of my voice inside my head telling myself it’ll be over in no time.

I’m considering faking it with my doctor, how sick is that?  Faking that I’m NOT freaking out, that is.  (Git your mind out of the gutter!)  Meanwhile, she’s talking and I’m scooting.  I have to scoot four times, and it’s really hard to scoot discretely.  Like for real?  You want it that close to you?  Nothing she says is registering, like “relax“. Really? You want me to relax? We’re not even on a first name basis here and you’re getting front row VIP seating.  And … if you really wanted me to relax, you’d at least start off with some jokes to calm me down.  Like how come they call you a “guy”necologist when all you ever look at are…never mind.  If you wanted me to relax, you’d have a bottle of Cuervo waiting for me. I mean, guys get magazines when they give specimen and what do we get?   We get mustache-nurse and some jelly you have to squeeze out of a tin foil tube.  Not even enough to take home after.

I try to relax for a second then I tense up again because I’m self conscious about how much to relax. If I relax too much, she’ll think I’m okay with this, but if I don’t she’ll be down there longer.  So I decide to make a face that shows I’m not enjoying it just so she’s clear about that and I ease up to help her out.  I hear the speculum lock in place. “Nice tiny uterus” she says, “ovaries are small“.  Well that’s a first.  I guess I should be proud?  “Cervix looks good“, she adds.  I wanna say, “Thank you, we’ve been working out” but I don’t because I realize making her laugh while she’s maneuvering a plastic duck bill through my ladypipes is not a smart thing to do.  Which makes me start thinking of speculum jokes, but I don’t laugh because that would be even more awkward for both of us.

I’m not even gonna tell you what happens next, but if that had been honey instead of my doctor, one of us would be grinning from ear to ear.  “Ok, looks good” she says after the internal prodding and snaps off her rubber gloves.  Then she gives my thigh a pat and it’s over, just like that.  “If there’s anything to be worried about, I’ll give you a call.  If everything turns out fine, you’ll get your results in the mail.”  “You can get dressed now.”  And that right there is the doctor equivalent to  “I’ll call you in the morning”.  I don’t even bother protesting, I mean, excuse me, it wasn’t that great for me either.  I walk out and grab my bill from mustache-nurse feeling like I need a shower because ew, I just paid for that.

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