Annual Check-up

Tomorrow I have a visit to the gynecologist scheduled. I know, I know--'nuff said. I myself prefer the term "gyno." It sounds irreverent, which makes me feel as though I have a bit of an upper hand which, given the position I'll be in while in the office, is just ridiculous. Ladies, there are so many reasons why this is such an unpleasant item of our to-do lists, aren't there? Here are a few:

Making the Appointment
My husband doesn't understand this reason. Making an appointment to go to the "lady doctor," the term I was taught as a child, is not the same experience as making a dental appointment. Things have to be, shall we say, cleared for business when this kind of exam is going to take place. Math is not involved when figuring out which date to choose for your trip to see Dr. Smith, D.D.S. And apparently, my gyno's a good one because he's always booked for a looooong time. I suppose I could call further in advance, but quite frankly, I don't know exactly when my body's going to do its thing three months prior to a possible appointment. Or maybe I just don't feel like counting.

Male vs. Female
Some women prefer to see female gynecologists. Mine is male. He was recommended to me, he's straightforward, and he successfully removed a cyst from each of my ovaries in 2001, so I'm stickin' with him. Besides, someone has to do the dirty work, and I'm not in the habit of glimpsing myself "down there" with a hand-held mirror. The only hand-held mirror I own is a golden-gilded one which I used as a child when I was imagining I was a princess or a 1940s movie star. Using that bit of nostalgia from my childhood in such a way seems sacrilegious. But sometimes you just don't want a male you see once a year as a witness to the good stuff.

The Waiting Room
This truly is the worst part for me. First of all, the wait is interminable. Even the novel I'm currently reading (or papers to grade, when I was a teacher) does little to ease the boredom and general antsiness of sitting in one of the uncomfortable mauve-colored chairs as I await the dreaded exam. And really, you can't even concentrate in there. Pregnant women dot the room. A few of them have noisy toddlers who don't understand the gravity of the situation for the rest of us. Then there are the older women, probably there to tell their doctors how their HRT is working. They usually have frowns on their faces. I don't know if it's because they are grieving the loss of estrogen in their maturing bodies or if, like me, the din of the soon-to-be older siblings is distracting to the point that you just want to go sit on one of them to make them stop. But the proverbial straw that breaks this camel's back is The Pregnant Couple. You know the one. I don't mind so much the couple with the man who is so ashamed to be at the lady doctor that, to avoid eye contact, his nose is inserted between pages 72 and 73 of Motorweek magazine that's been ordered for his kind. I like that guy. He makes me laugh. I think he must hate to be in that room more than I do. But The Pregnant Couple...the woman has perfectly polished toenails that match her oh-guess-what-I'm-pregnant maternity top. The husband is dressed in business casual and usually whips out his PDA at some point during their reign in the gyno's waiting room. But they're not alone. Oh no. They've brought at least one set of parents, who are typically having a very loud discussion of whether they will be Grandma and Grandpa, Nana and Papa, or even something as horrible as Mimi and Peepaw. But that's not it, folks! Cell phones are inevitably put to use, contacting everyone The Pregnant Couple and their parents know, informing them (and the rest of us waiting room inmates) of their happy news of whether they will soon be welcoming little Brayden or little Brittany into the world. Meanwhile, all the rest of us are looking forward to is that oh-so-pleasant exploration of our uteruses. Am I jealous? A little. But in my defense, I just have a low cutsiness tolerance. I think it's in my medical records.

Emptying Your Water
I love the use of this phrase. At my gyno's office, once your name is finally called (at this point, I jump up like I'm the next contestant on The Price Is Right), the nurses point to the restroom and ask you to "empty your water." That's so much more delicate than "Here's the cup; now go pee." Now, at this point, you've really got to pee. In the waiting room, you've crossed your legs several times, but you can't go too early because then you may not have enough for the cup. But instead of plopping down on the toilet seat in relief, you are required to hold the cup and straddle it with your pants around your ankles or, if you're wearing a skirt, the fabric bunched around your midsection. After you've managed this maneuver, there's the little stainless steel door. (This is how it is at my gyno. Is it different at other places?) Let me explain. There are people on the other side of the door who, after you've placed your pee cup on the little ledge, open their little door on the other side, collect your urine, and run the test. This freaks me out. What if they open the door too soon? It's never happened to me, but never say never.

The Exam
Do I really need to say much? I'll never forget when my doctor was probing me to check on the condition of the ovarian cysts. He said, "Sorry, I know this is uncomfortable. Is it painful?"

"Well, it ain't exactly a walk in the park!" I quipped. What a dork to use such a cliche. I wish I'd thought of something funnier. But humor does not always occur in the midst of mortification.

Here's another comparison between dental visits and gynecological visits. The dentist tries to make conversation when it's impossible to coherently respond. The gyno also tries to make conversation, but what topic is really acceptable when someone's giving you a Pap smear? My favorite conversation with my gyno and his nurse was about the grocery store with the best produce for the price. How bizarre. He's checking out my ability to produce fruit while we're chatting about the quality of Gala apples!

I'm hoping that tomorrow's visit is devoid of any Pregnant Couples or screaming "big" brothers. I also hope I emit the proper amount of pee, that my ovaries are lookin' good, and my appointment doesn't get cancelled due to an emergency C-section. I'd rather just get it over with for the year.