A Woman's Health

The first gift he ever gave me was a morning-after pill.

It seemed like the natural progression of events then, for me to now have my feet up in stirrups and a Middle Eastern woman asking me to spread as far as I can.

"Okay now. Spread them out as far as you can."

I self-consciously open my legs, fully aware that I have a small collection of black jean lint in the grooves between my thighs and my...other parts. I tried to wipe it away with spit before she came into the room, but I only succeeded in smearing things around like a child with fingerpaints. When she opened the door, my hands retreated in that guilty way, like I had been surprised while doing something truly subversive or private, and my guess is that she suspects me of masturbating.

"Is this enough?"

"That's perfect."

I never want to hear the word 'perfect' in this context again.

The doctor maneuvers her fingers in my vagina, asking me if any of the probing hurts. I have another flash of guilt as I realize that it feels okay. With dimmer lights and a different mood, it would feel downright good. Maybe I should have shaved my vagina for this.

Which is preferable for an STD test anyway? A well-groomed or a frizzy vagina? I mean, if it isn't very presentable, doesn't it seem more pure? Or is it just gross? It's the little bits of etiquette like this that I wish I had a handle on. In my case, considering the kindergarten masterpiece presented on my thighs, I suspect it's just gross.

The woman pulls a speculum from a drawer filled with all those unpleasant metal instruments that have become synonymous with a woman's health, and I shudder. Since my last pelvic exam, when a heartless doctor pushed down on my abdomen and gave a series of shoves with the device saying "Your cervix"--push--"just"--push--"won't"--push--"OPEN!" I have been terrified of the speculum.

It should be noted that no self-respecting cervix would open under these conditions. Not ever.

Mine did, and that's probably why I'm here today. My cervix is shady, and my vagina's a whore.

The cold metal is inserted and I flinch. "You'll feel a little pinch. Tell me if it's too uncomfortable."

I pull off an almost smile and say, "It's fine. Just hurry."

My cervix, perhaps having some capacity for memory, is much more cooperative. I grimace as I feel my inner walls being scraped for a culture and I decide right there that sex isn't worth all the maintenance. I am not a car, and I shouldn't have some dipstick coldly checking my levels as though I am.

The doctor pulls the speculum out and I sigh. "Okay. We're all done here." I snap my legs shut and lift my feet out of the stirrups. The doctor is sticking labels on two little vials, both filled with what was previously a part of me. I don't know why, exactly, but the idea of my more intimate bits being examined by a stranger--my identity reduced to a sticker--is very uncomfortable.

"Since it's Thursday, we should have results for you after the weekend. If something is wrong, I'll call you. Otherwise it'll be a nurse. So, if you don't hear my voice, you're in good shape."

She leaves with my vials and I redress.


to be continued...maybe