Stirrups, please.

Posted: 20 April 2006 in queerlife, therapy
Tags: ,

Caution: Icky medical drama ahead…

Do you love going to the gynocologist? Because I don’t, and I could use some of that love over here. My last doctor, quite probably scarred by my tears, general panic and faint-inducing anxiety suggested that as a fairly healthy, fairly young person, I could wait three years between visits. As you expected, the three years have come and gone and I dragged myself off to the new doc today. I rationalized it by telling myself that the woman was reputedly lesbian friendly (and her entire office was), a new diagnosis of PCOS demanded some more specialized attention to my delinquent ovaries and that if D and I were planning to have a baby…ever…I was going to have to get used to someone in between my legs.

I did it with a minimum of tears (applause here) but not without considerable panicking, fidgeting, grimacing and blood pressure rocketing. D held my hand (helping matters tremendously), setting a precedent for every future visit so that I don’t have to take that horrid, poking awfulness alone. The doctor said she’d see me next year (thank goodness she wants to keep me) and I’m not completely turned off at the idea of sex for the next six months (which is what happened last time one of us went to the doc).

You’d think being a dyke would make it easier for me to throw my feet up there and slide down just so and lay quietly while some woman sticks gigantic baseball bats into me. Frankly, I’d let D stick just about anything up there with the appropriate amount of fiddling elsewhere. But just so you straight folks know, being a lesbian doesn’t give me an edge. I still really, really hate it.

You might ask why I’d put this out there for the Internet to read. Partly because I’m proud of myself for not turning into a blubbering wreck and partly because I can’t seem to find anyone else out there as scarred by this experience as I am. All of you scarred people can coome over here. It’s fun! We’re a party!

  1. Dyke Grrl says:

    Hey, I’m impressed. It’s not even physically painful for me, but I’ve been putting off (and putting off) that so-called “annual” visit for quite a while now. So getting in on some kind of regular schedule is impressive.

    My partner and I have promised ourselves a cream tea after going in… so we haven’t had a cream tea for a looooong time, since neither of us wants to go.

    PS-I hope you don’t mind me commenting. I think I found you by you commenting on my blog… I enjoy reading your posts. Thanks.

  2. backlist says:

    I don’t mind at all – from reading your blog, you and I have a lot in common! If you were here, I’d recommend my stirrup-lady, but since you’re not I’ll just wish you luck in finding your own. Ugh. I don’t even want to think about next year!

  3. Dylan says:

    I know this entry is really old, but I was reading through your “Queer Life” tag and I’m 20 years old and have yet to have a true gyno experience because the thought alone makes me almost throw up. Instead, I’ve had yearly ultrasounds since about 14 to monitor a mostly harmless endometrial condition… but let me tell you, now that I’m past that 18 year mark, I think they’re going to start being more aggressive about pursuing an actual exam. Uuuugh. I DREAD the day.

  4. backlist says:

    At least they are okay with every three years now as long as things are normal. Seriously though, I have a mental breakdown everytime I go for no reason!

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