The Down There

Having just seen the Vagina Monologues for the first time a couple weeks ago, I feel that an ode to my Down There is in order. Maybe not so much as an ode as it is an excuse to talk about the gynecologist.

[Side note: the Vag Monologues was an amazing experience. If you have never gone before I highly suggest going. It's pretty exhilarating, and you'll leave wanting to go and shout about vaginas to the world. Just go see it.]

Today the lecture in Human Sexuality was all about sexual health, which is why I even thought of this in the first place.

So, the gyno. It is literally the most awkward thing that I have to do on a yearly basis. I first started going when I was 15. Kelly made me go. Her excuse was that Grammy made her go when she was 15. Whatever, that shit was wack. You're supposed to start going when you turn 18 or when you become sexually active. Since neither of those were true at the time I thought it was ridiculous that I had to go. In truth, it terrified the living shit out of me. I got that feeling of absolute dread when you know you have to do something that you REALLY don't want to do. My stomach was in knots and I didn't sleep well for at least a week before the appointment.

It was probably not as awful as I'd expected it to be, but still bloody terrible. First of all, my Mom has been going to the same doctor since forever, and when she walked into the doctor's office with me for the first time there were all these doctors that she knew. She introduced me to this one guy who had basically delivered me, and he made something along the lines of what everybody says when they know my mom and are meeting me for the first time. It's a combination of 'wow you've gotten big' and 'Damn Kelly, just yesterday she was a toddler' and 'time just flies, doesn't it?'. Except that this guy had been there when I popped out of the womb so it was a little bit more awkward. I'm not sure how to respond in these instances so I just smile and nod like I'm totally thrilled to be talked about like I don't exist or commented upon like a nice piece of cheese.

Then I had to go in for a pelvic exam. Sitting naked on a table with nothing but my socks on was incredibly nerve wracking for my high school freshman self. I was probably having heart palpitations. Yeah, I was wearing one of the craptacular paper robes, but those aren't even remotely close enough to actual garments to be considered clothes so I was naked except for my socks. Why they let me wear my socks, I don't know.

So I get a lovely pelvic exam. Speculums are just about the weirdest contraptions ever. They sort of look like torture instruments. They sort-of-kind-of-but-not-really are torture instruments. And they're really fucking cold too. And I'm not sure what kind of lube they've been using in my doctors office, but ever time I leave my vajayjay could be a friggin Slip-N-Slide for how much they slather on me.

And then there's the breast exam. As if it's not awkward enough for some old lady to be investigating my nether regions, she has to get to second base too. The most awkward part about it is the fact that I'm SUPER ticklish just about everywhere, including my boobs. So, basically the doctor feels me up and I have to just try not to have giggle spasms everywhere.

As if having someone eyeball your cooch isn't enough fun, there was the time that I passed out in the gynecologists office.

I went in for the first HPV shot (no pelvic exams for that day). The nurse led me to one of the rooms and swabbed my arm up and everything. She gave me the shot, and I remember that it was really cool because the needle was like spring loaded or something. It was a badass syringe. Then the nurse tells me that I'm good to go, so I get up and walk down the hallway. Except once I'm in the hallway my hearing feels really muffled and I wonder why. I walk out into the lobby where my mom is chatting with the receptionist. I make it to a spot next to her, and by this time I'm seeing black spots. All I can think about is the black spots remind me of cows. Then I realize my mom is looking at me like there's something wrong. I hear her insistently say, "Are you okay?" and I thought that I answered that yeah, I was totally fine, but apparently I just stared at her like she was speaking chinese or something. I don't remember this happening but apparently one eye rolled up and the other rolled sideways, and then I was down for the count.

I came in a chair with several doctors hovering over me taking my pulse and handing me a cup of water. I felt totally fine. Apparently I just had a really rare reaction to the HPV shot. The entire walk back to the car Kelly kept sneaking glances at me. I think she was afraid that I was going to up and die on her at any second. But that was it, nothing else happened after that.

Except that I got the same nurse for round II of the HPV shot, and that time she made me lie down for 10 minutes post injection. How embarrassing.

And while on the topic of the Southern Hemisphere, can I just complain about 'feminine hygiene products'? They're goddamn expensive. Why can't the government subsidize them? It's a natural bodily function that is nearly guaranteed to happen, so why do we have to pay for it? I'm calling bullshit.

Now for story time: when I was 14 and just getting used to using pads and stuff, I attempted to borrow one of Kelly's tampons. I inserted it like I thought you were supposed to, and I went around for a couple hours wearing one but I couldn't figure out why it was so uncomfortably painful. Turns out the cardboard is NOT supposed to stay in there. Whoops.