THE DOCTOR & THE SPECULUM
Why are doctors always, always running late? Like actually, I’m the first bloody appointment of the day. They’re like Jetstar, always late and they don’t let you bring any liquids in. Rip off.
Oh jesus christ, that can’t be my doctor. Is she miranda kerr? Why is her hair so shiny.
Walking behind her to the appointment room, I am acutely aware of how short and stubby my legs are. I’m so short (or she’s so gloriously tall) that I have a up close view of her legs and bum and I feel quite shockingly like someone has put an oompa loompa into a sausage casing.
For fucks sake, I can’t believe this angel woman has to look at me naked. This is the worst day possible.
I’ve come to the doctor to get my pap smear and STD test, because I am a good responsible sexually active lady. What I hadn’t planned on was being accosted by the literal incarnation of health and beauty having to get up close to my vagina.
We’re running through all the standard questions. What is my preferred method of birth control? Is my relationship violent? Have I had any odd or unusual symptoms during sex? Etc etc.
“Are you in a relationship?”
I guess you could call dealing with dick pics and creeps on tinder dating, yes.
Ummmmm, it’s been a while but I guess, like,
“I’ll just write down no.”
Angel doctor (not real name) is pleasant and friendly, and when we get to the diet and weight portion of questioning she becomes quite animated hearing that I’m low FODMAP and dairy free.
“Oh me too! That’s so cute, I love finding people with similar diet. Have you had any difference in weight or health with this? I lost a bunch”
No. Miranda, you can plainly see I look like literal cottage cheese, so no I have not.
This is not an ideal doctor’s appointment already.
It’s come to the part of the appointment where I have to disrobe and awkwardly clamber onto the bed and put my ankles into the somewhat torture like looking ankle straps. I momentarily ponder the likelihood of an earthquake while i’m lying vagina to the sky.
Now, if you’re anything like me, you’ll resonate with the one opinion I have about pap smears: possibly the most uncomfortable thing ever. Jabbing and poking and cervix chat and someone’s face creepily close to my sexy bits, and not in a good way.
I’m so riddled with anxiety, I can practically feel the sweat beads rolling down my thighs.
Oh god she can definitely see my thigh sweat. she’s going to think i’m a massively sweaty person normally, she’s probably one of those people that can work out at the gym and not come out looking like a tomato in the sun. this is so bad.
Angel doctor notices that my fists are clutching the hospital sheets for dear life.
“You seem nervous. It’s okay, it won’t even be painful and it will be over before you know it!”
What Angel doctor did not know, was that this appointment was not going to end the way she thought.
She brings out the giant metal thing that looks like a duck. The torture device known as a speculum. She makes some joke about it being cold, then squishes the thing to high heaven.
As she’s fiddling around, doing doctory things, I begin to feel.. Odd. There’s so much pressure on my lady bits, I start feeling nauseous from the effort of trying to stay calm and let the duck and my doctor do their thing.
And then, it happens.
I lose control of my body and my unhappy vajay protests in the most awful, life shattering way.
I’ve hit Angel doctor in the face. In the face with a speculum. Out of my vagina.
I hear it fall with a clunk onto the bed. And then I hear nothing. I’ve completely stopped breathing, and I think Angel face has too. How long can time stretch with no one saying a damn word. How many years have passed.
With a heart achingly dignified shake of her hair, Angel doctor backs up and looks me in the eye.
“Well, that has never ever happened before!”
I feel so red from embarrassment that my brain can’t actually form any words, cause allllll the blood is in my face right this moment.
She laughs and goes about wiping her face and picking the speculum up for sanitising.
Say something omg, apologise! Say anything! Laugh, cry, just do something god damn it!
I have to apologise, it’s been 5 full minutes and I’ve not said one word.
I open my mouth to tell her how honestly sorry I am, and promptly throw up on the art deco, faded floor.
My mind was so horrified, I genuinely cannot remember the exact details of the aftermath of the vomit. I feel like my brain is sheltering me from the horrific humiliation of the afternoon.
Angel doctor was true to her namesake and was kind and played it off as a joke as she wrote up my file. I know she can’t exactly write “tiny cottage cheese woman vagina shot projectiles at me, then she spewed” but I feel like that’s the summation.
As I was timidly and slowly gathering my thing, Angel doctor turned to me and the nurse deployed to help walk me to the door, and joyfully said,
“Well at least you don’t have chlamydia! Here’s a prescription for condoms!”
And promptly slammed the door.
Originally published at kaseyand.co.