You guys, I spent a whole 5 minutes on the internet today to trying to rustle up some awesomely funny pre-gynocologist visit rituals that we could all have a good chuckle over. I need these, of course, to keep myself from dying a little inside every time I go. So we can get on to the humor, let’s go ahead and get the usual Counting Chickens Standard Neuroses ™ out of the way:
I am horrified at the idea of the gynecologist. I cry. In that sad, almost silent, fat tears rolling uncontrollably down cheeks, way that makes doctors simultaneously tense and tiptoe-y. If it’s our first time, they usually ask me if I have had “any bad experiences” and I don’t think they want to hear about the time I broke up with my girlfriend and she took my beloved salt and pepper pots. If we’re lucky, I can pull myself together on the homestretch so that my eyes are dry enough to see the relief on their faces as they dart from the room.
I have a great doctor and in the past 5 years we’ve grown used to each other (as much as you can, of course, having met only 5 times). It helps that D goes to the same person AND that the doc has a good memory which counts for extra I think. Not that I’m exactly a forgettable patient. I’m pretty sure my file has a giant red sharpie notation in it. She is gentle, warm, upbeat and fast, which seriously, isn’t that all anyone wants? She takes a holistic look at health and knows my regular doc well. Together they are like the superheros of lady parts. However, despite feeling favorable about this week’s visit, I still found myself out, buying new socks.
Oh come on. I can’t be the only one. I buy new, cute socks pre-visit so that they are sparklingly clean and charming*. I used to lament the current trim of the hedges (too short, too long, god forbid there is RAZOR BURN!)* but this time around I took my kit and caboodle in there and slapped it onto the table in all of its in-between glory. Now, the internet will promise you that she’s not there to check your wax job*, but since I also wash my hair before going to the stylist, I don’t think my basic personality is going to change.
I do think it’s funny that the same purveyors of advice that promise you that no one is looking at the…ahem…state of your affairs also recommend that you be “fresh”. Come on man. Let’s just make that a day-to-day priority. The jury also remains out on vajazzling, labia dye – seriously, you have to click here and here if you’ve ever worried about your “lackluster labia”, anal bleaching (I’m pretty sure there’s no safe link for that) and other, awesome, inventions that make us look less like ourselves all together. And seriously guys, who wants rhinestones stuck between their teeth?
Although there’s a dearth of “gynecologist superstitions” or “rituals” or “prep tips” that are funny, there is plenty of advice preparing the first timer for the stirrups. I only hope my wife and I can do as good a job as some of these sites do in preparing RR. Things my 16…er…18yr-old self would have liked to have known:
- They will not walk in on you until you get your gown on. You do not have to fall over yourself like a three-legged puppy trying to get to the squeaky toy trying to tuck your carefully picked panties into your pants pocket.
- There will be a gown and either a folded paper sheet or some other unspecified covering. You wear the gown. If you don’t know whether it should open to the back or the front, ask. They should have told you. Every office does it differently.
- That weird fabric thing, paper thing, or extra gown goes over your knees. It isn’t to sit on or wrap around yourself. It’s going to be the primary drape once things get going but until the doctor comes in, consider it a modesty patch.
- You get to leave your socks on.
- Take a pantiliner. Some doctors (not mine, thank goodness) get a little crazy with the lube, bless their hearts, and you might have a little slippage as you walk out.
- Don’t panic if normally clothed parts of you see fresh air. Think of it as making sure your gear is in perfect condition. The small injustice is worth it.
- If you have questions, ask them the second there’s a lull. Ideally, she’ll ask if you have questions but, since some folks are wham bam thank you ma’am, you should grab the bull by the horns. You’re paying for them to do this shit to you. If you want to ask about a bump, a lump, a smell, a swell you ask the shit out of those questions.
Bottom line. It’s over until next November when I hope there will be more blog posts about the awesome things people do to get ready for their appointments.
PS – I know that pap smears are recommended every three years for your average citizen but, having had a scare a few years ago, I am now part of the Pap Smear Every Year! club. Best thing that ever happened to me.
PPS – Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor.
PPPS – If you have ever been in a fertility clinic or OB’s office, you have clearly transcended this entire post. Go on, you awesome being of light, go on.
And I didn’t forget the *!
*Your gynecologist does not care. She doesn’t remember what your business looks like. She does not have an opinion of your trim job. Further, she doesn’t remember what your labia looked like after you walk out the door. She looks at vaginas and cervixes and breasts all day long. She’s looking for STDs and cancer, big bad serious things, not stupid lame things like razor burn and the nipple piercing that you had because it thought it looked cool until it started growing out and then you went surfing and the waves ripped it out and then it healed over with an odd scar even though it looks perfect otherwise and I wouldn’t know anything about that. Okay? She doesn’t care.
Filed under: Third Year | Tagged: are you there baby? it's me mama., doctors, M/D | 16 Comments »