I’m sitting here, nervous–in my blue paper towel and my black running socks and nothing else– wondering why I have not changed to a female doctor after the birth of my son (and if I should just take my socks off too.) I mean I’ve always had female doctors for this exam. I think they listen better, right? Don’t they make it okay to ask all the questions I have now that I’m getting older … then there is that whole thing about touching all, and I mean ALL of the equipment … Geez, they should turn off the lights or at least put on some soft music and offer me some wine, make small talk.
I have on a blue paper towel in lieu of a dress but I still feel neked, and not the good kind of neked. Last time I saw Dr. K he was all business and not really available to sit and chat … Or was that me just being over sensitive–post baby–hormone, insecure?
At least this time the assistant who dropped me off in this room looks older than ten … Last time I sat on this table staring at those stirrups the assistant could not have been over ten years old … give or take ten years. At the time Dr. K indicated she was a student but didn’t clarify if she was in middle school or high school. Not that there’s anything wrong with these young ladies it’s just that I’m afraid they will take one look at my well used machinery and be terrified of their future, light themselves on fire and run screaming from the room … probably just my own insecurities … Well at least post baby check-ups make me feel that way … Four babies, wow.
If anything, I will admit to having vagina envy on occasion. I am sure that my twenty year old flower was glorious but hell if I knew how to fully appreciate her or treat her. I have to stop myself and this train of thinking I realize that I am allowing myself to be insecure simply because I am so vulnerable (blue paper nightgowns and table stirrups do that to this girl) at this moment. I just have to knock it off, even if I am doubtful that anyone could sit here, excited and positively secure, waiting to hold their ass up to their doctors face and let him check out the fine workings of all their parts.
“knock-knock,” Dr K says before entering the room to see me in all my sock footed, paper-towel sporting, glory.
Then he enters the room. Oh that’s good he has a ten year old in-tow AND the twenty-five year old assistant I’ve already met. I’m thinking to myself, “maybe they should go see if anyone else wants to come check out Her Majesty (my Va-JayJay).”
Jokingly I say something about the party we are having and Dr. K leans over to the older of the two ladies and asks if she can go and check the lobby for anyone else who wants to come in for a once in a life time opportunity … ugh–I wish I was joking–he really said that. Fuschia is the color my skin feels like. This man does not miss a beat, his humor and timing are uncanny.
It was a great exam despite everything. He asked me good questions listened to me intently. When I told him that my sex life was the best it has been in a couple of years and I was worried that it might go away (when I get old,) he laughs a hearty belly laugh (and so do the ten year old and the assistant. Ladies please!) Reaching for my hand, he grabs hold of my hand and arm with both of his hands, he steadies his gaze at me with a big smile, a serious smile. We talk about my level of physical activity my hormone levels and also his suspicion that a fair part of what I am enjoying relates to the age of my small children finally allowing more time for “recreational” activities.
“My dear,” he says at last, “In all the years I have been doing this, and I am old, I can tell you that people who like to have sex, continue to like to have sex…at all ages. End of story.”
Finally the questions are ending and he stands and announces one last thing he wants to check. Once again he inserts his finger into my ladyparts, I’m instructed to do a kegel. Um, okay…
“… And hold … holy smokes! You can stop, you’re going to take my glove off! You could win some kind of State Fair blue ribbon or something.” He says this while sitting down and taking off his purple gloves.
I ask him if he wants to buy me a drink … Confess that was the nicest thing any man has ever said to me … Leaning forward his parting words are, “kegels are a girl’s best friend, not diamonds, you should spread the word and keep up the good work”.
(Possibly the funniest, most awkward Dr. Appointment ever, and I still never want to go back.)
This story, a few of my friends heard months ago and have egged me on to share here … with everyone … It makes me feel a bit “neked” … in the uncomfortable way, not the good way … Purely in the interest of conveying a public service announcement I have conceded.