15 Mar Don’t Read This If You Are A Man. Just. Don’t
I had a coloscopy today. If you don’t know what it is, it’s when a Pap smear comes back weird and they go in and use torture devices to check for pre-cancerous cells or something. “They are totally normal, lots of people have had one”, said everyone. Perfect, I thought. Just a routine appointment at the vagina doctor. I should have known that appointments at the vagina doctor, by their very nature, are not routine. How many other appointments do you have where another person is scraping around inside you? None, usually. Unless you’re a hooker, in which case you really should be charging more.First off, I was unaware that we would be having a party. There were FOUR people in the exam room, not counting myself. In my opinion, that’s three more than necessary. There was the doctor, her nurse helper lady, and two women who were training to be nurse practitioners. My lady parts became an involuntary classroom. I politely asked that if any of them had smart phones, would they please refrain from tagging me? As part of the procedure they spray VINEGAR into your VAGINA. What. The. Fuck. This vagina party was off the hook, in a very very uncomfortable way.I told them that they were all acting like that nutty classroom teacher from the Magic School Bus childrens book series, “Journey through the Human Body”, or something like that. Then they marveled at my “cute, tiny cervix” and ooed and aahed over some swirly pattern in my insides that was magnified under their vagina microscope. One of the trainees called it the “Monet of vaginas”, which I’m sure was meant to be a compliment, but Monet was an artist, not a piece of art, so it was just very awkward because now in addition to being forced open and doused in a condiment, my parts are being compared to a deceased male watercolor impressionist from the early twentieth century. Which is really very confusing.Then they told me about a bunch of gross, uncomfortable things that would be happening to my body over the next day or two, shook my hand and thanked me (as if I had enthusiastically volunteered to be a living lab) and sent me on my way. Being a woman is hard. And gross.