I don’t know if there is anything more awkward than a gynecologist appointment. It shouldn’t be awkward. That’s their job. They could care less about whatever hangups you have about your nether regions. They want to get in and get out just as fast as you, right?
But the real question is what if they don’t? What if they’re having fun poking around down there because it gives them material for their next coffee break or dinner party or, shudder, blog post? To think that any of our HooHaas have ever come up in some doctor’s after dinner conversation absolutely mortifies me.
So, yeah, the pap smear turns me into a puddle of insecure goo because, yes, I’m glad my labs came back normal, but could you just tell me if She looks normal? Thanks.
Well, I found out a way to make the pap smear more awkward.
Bring your husband.
Because nothing can cause more anxiety for me than for TWO people who have opinions and thoughts about MY most private body part to be in the same room. Ugh. While I laid there during our first prenatal appointment with my stuff as the centerpiece of conversation my heart was gripped with the fear of Mark speaking up to ask if the way the suchandsuch dillydallied to the left was normal. Ya know, since he’d always wondered and all.
Kill me now.
Well, thankfully, Mark stayed quiet during the entire exam (except to give his opinion that if schools would teach boys in high school how to check for breast cancer we’d certainly start catching breast cancer earlier). He probably stayed quiet because I had gotten an A in Uterus 101.
Midwife: Ok, now I’m feeling your uterus. Good, good. Here if you touch here (puts my hand on top of my pelvis) you can feel it.
Me: Yeah, that’s cool (totally lying, couldn’t feel anything different).
Midwife: Your uterus is great. I really wish I had a student here…
I’ve never smiled so hard during a doctor’s appointment. Never. But this lady had me beaming. My little old uterus was textbook awesome! Who knew!?! Screw feeling awkward when it came time get pap smeared. I was sitting on a uterus gold mine. And as the owner of such a fortune it was my responsibility to the medical community, no, to mankind to share it with the world’s people.
And for the rest of the weekend anytime I started to get all “woe is me” about pretty much anything I’d remind myself that I had an awesome uterus. And the world was good again.