Real Talk About The Lady Parts Doc

These days, my annual visit to the gynecologist is the most action I’ve had in well….quite some time. Full disclosure, I haven’t been with anyone since my last boyfriend (so over a year). I haven’t been on a single date, haven’t sexted (despite one guys attempts), haven’t even flirted. I’m over it. I’m over guys. I may try girls when (and if) I’m ever ready to date again, but it’s very possible that I may never date again. I’m perfectly ok with being single for my remaining days. My last (and only my second) boyfriend did a lot of damage to me, mostly financial. I have my dog and cats, and honestly that’s all I need (well, and my toe curling 50 Shades of Gray vibrator). I’m starting to find balance in my life once again, which is something I’ve been starving for since my last relationship. It takes me a while to recover from bad experiences, and I think that’s because I have a heart that has taken a beating my entire life. At this point, I just hope no one else is lined up to take their turn on me.

Enough of the emotional shit. I’m always looking for humor in things, and when you open yourself up to laughing freely and laughing at yourself, life becomes much better. So this post is about what it’s like for us women when we visit the good old lady parts doctor (aka the gynecologist). I should mention that I have Endometriosis, which I was diagnosed with in my very early 20’s, have had 2 surgeries, haven’t had a period in over a decade to prevent it from coming back, and also have a very bad family history of cancer on my mothers side (who died after multiple cancers took over her body…starting with her reproductive system). The Endometriosis is another story for another time, but I will definitely share my experience, treatments, and advice in another post.

The gynecologist is probably a doctor that a lot of women don’t like to visit every year. But I’m not like most women. It’s probably my favorite, and not just because it’s the only action I get. My doc is a woman….she’s cute, she finds my jokes funny, and she seems like she actually gives a shit. That’s why I let her stick metal objects up inside me (also fingers, wire brushes, q-tips, and whatever other objects she deems necessary). I also let her touch my boobs. What more can you ask for? She’s a full service shop.

So let’s start at the beginning of a visit (which I just had yesterday so it’s fresh in my fucked up brain)….

Here’s what happens in the first few minutes, in summary, in this order:

  • The nurse (or whatever they are) take my blood pressure and ask me a bunch of questions.
  • The nurse asks me if I’m currently sexually active. I say, “Only with myself”. She replies, “Well there ya go!” That was not the response I was hoping for, but I’ll take the words of encouragement.
  • The nurse tells me to take my pants off and use the oversized paper napkin thing to cover myself. She tells me the doc will be right in and leaves the room.
  • I rush to get my pants off, because I have this fear of the doctor walking in while I’m still stripping.
  • I get naked from the waist down, leave my socks on, and go sit on the noisy paper on the “bed”, and quickly unfold the oversized paper napkin thing to cover my vag. I leave my “Show me your pitties” t-shirt on, as this is a follow up visit. Normally we girls have to strip down completely so we can get to first base more easily.

So there I am, sitting on the paper that makes ridiculous noise anytime you breathe. I’m trying to strategically wrap the oversized napkin around to cover the side of my bum that is facing the door so it’s not awkward when she comes in. I mean, I guess it shouldn’t matter since she’s going to be all up inside me shortly, but I’m trying to be respectful here. I left my phone on the chair, and I can hear it blowing up with notifications from my group chat I have going with a couple of friends. Basically we send dank memes to each other all throughout the day, and now I’m missing out while I’m waiting half naked to get my vag violated. I don’t dare get up to get my phone, because you know as soon as I get up to grab it, the doc will walk in and see me with no pants on holding a giant napkin and wearing socks. I then realize I can hear her talking to another patient in the next room. So clearly she’s running late because this cunt of a patient won’t stop talking to her. She was 30 minutes late to be exact. So I just sat there on the noisy paper and tried not to move. I feel like an owl, swiveling my fucking head but not moving my body. I’m looking all over the room. I look up and see the huge vent in the ceiling and I can kind of see up inside the thing. I wonder if some perv put a camera in there. I squint to try and see better, but it doesn’t work. I accept the fact that there may potentially be a camera up there, filming me. I give it the finger.

Still waiting. I look over and see the magazines I should have grabbed before climbing up on this noisy bed. All I see are Family Circle mags. Who the hell reads that shit? Do mothers read that? Regardless, I’m slightly offended that they don’t have any magazines for us single ladies. Where’s the damn porn at? Where’s the dog magazines? Where is Cat Fancy? Hell, where is Time? I’m not looking to pick out new sewing patterns to make curtains for my house while I sit here with no fucking pants or underwear on. Jesus Christ.

Still waiting. I contemplate messing around with the light thing that they use to shine on all the vag’s. I guess that would be a task light. I decide against it, as I can hear what I think is a conversation wrapping up next door.

It was not a a convo wrapping up. Still waiting. At this point I’m getting pissed at this other patient. Unless she’s giving fucking birth in the next room, there is no reason for her to be taking up the doc’s entire afternoon. I have to fart at this point. I’m hesitant to fart for a number of reasons. First of all, I’m not wearing anything. Second of all, the noisy paper and the fact that I could very well rip it (the paper, that is). Third of all, you know as soon as I fart, she’s going to walk in. I try to remember what I just ate for lunch to determine if it might smell or not. I decide against it.

Still waiting and have to fart again. I hold it in. Again. And again.

Finally she walks in. Now I’m nervous that since I’ve been holding in farts for the past 20 minutes, as soon as I spread my legs one is going to slip out. For fucks sake. I keep my butt clenched until the double sided metal mini shovel needs to go in. Phew….nothing slips. Should be smooth sailing from here.

The whole process is usually pretty quick, but it’s taking her longer and she’s lingering in there. She explains that I’m bleeding more than what’s normal during an exam so that’s why it’s taking longer. I then explain that it’s because I’ve had no action down there in so long and tell her to clear the cobwebs. She laughs. Then she explains that some women have a sensitive cervix. I honestly still think it’s because I haven’t had any action in so long, but I’m not going to argue with the lady that has weaponry shoved up inside me.

It’s finally over. I had a procedure done a few months ago and needed some biopsies, and I was also concerned that my Endo was coming back, so last time I got a finger in the butt. Now THAT’S full service. This visit was the abridged version.

So there you have it. A women’s experience at the lady parts doc. Aside from the somewhat awkward part of having objects shoved up inside you, it’s actually a very good time. As someone who is constantly wondering when I’m going to be told I have cancer, it’s important that I can still have a good time and find the humor in things.


2 thoughts on “Real Talk About The Lady Parts Doc

  1. Wow! What an eye opening post. So much more in depth then a guys turn your head and cough routine. Of course the imagery was amusing ;what with picturing you trying so hard to hold in that fart.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s