Are You There, Gynecologist? It’s Me, Marinka!

by Marinka on July 11, 2009

Yesterday I had my annual gynecological check up and enjoyed a few profound thoughts, most of them in the crotch to the ceiling position, courtesy of the special examination chair that my doctor uses that flips me over so that my head is below my knees, much like it is in a beauty salon, except no one washes my hair while I’m at it.

Profound Thought Number One: My friend Wendi told me once that she thought the hardest job in the world was to be William Shatner’s love interest, but I have to disagree. It’s the woman who has to stay in the room while the doctor is doing the gynecological exam. You know the one I mean, the nurse. Who’s there to make sure that the doctor doesn’t fondle you and that you don’t falsely accuse him of sexual improprieties.

I do not understand this at all.

First of all, why is this person not present every other time someone touches a part of my body? Because I’m pretty sure that my hair colorist is more turned on by my hair than my gynecologist is by my pap smear. And my hair guy is gay.

Second of all, are the doctors really protected by this? Because couldn’t you say “of course she’s going to back up the doctor, SHE WORKS FOR HIM!”

I mean, wouldn’t it be better if instead of the woman witness there, they had something else, like a video recording of the exam? Because that way, it could be on You Tube and everyone could judge for themselves.

Profound Thought Number Two: I’m worried that my gynecologist isn’t really a doctor. Ok, so he delivered my son 8 years ago. He’s a solo practitioner, plus, he covered a huge midwife practice (until they closed), I’ve been to his office more than thirty times and he has never missed an appointment because he was delivering a baby. I mean, how is that possible? So I am super suspicious. Maybe I should report him.

Profound Thought Number Three: My blood pressure was slightly elevated because (1) I was sure that I was dying; (2) I was worried that my blood pressure would measure high; (3) living with Husbandrinka has really taken its toll on me. So, I’ve decided to lose weight. I’m thinking of using “The Secret” method of thinking thin thoughts and playing lots of Karen Carpenter music. But just in case that doesn’t work, expect many cranky posts from me in the near future.

Because up until now, my posts have been life-affirming.

One year ago ...

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