Truths: Toilet Paper Exams

So, yesterday I made my dreaded annual trip to the Gyne. Is there any woman in the world who looks forward to this?

Okay, maybe if you are dying to become pregnant and think that you are and want the Dr. to confirm it. That I can understand. I remember that day!

But, for all the other years in a woman's life, it is dread. The entire exam is just so berating. It is completely a violation of personal space and yet, we allow ourselves to succumb to it every 12 months. Or, if you are like me - maybe every 18 months because you just never seemed to have time to make that call...

So, I was there yesterday. My heart pounding and my body clammy. You sit in the waiting room attempting to read a magazine, but all you can think about is what is going to happen in the next 15 minutes or next hour depending how on-time your physician is.. Mine is very timely.

You look around the room and there are women everywhere and you wonder, "Are they just as uncomfortable as you?"

I noticed teen girls with their moms and I couldn't help to feel sorry for them. This was probably their first visit. They had no idea what to expect or if it would hurt or if their mom would be in the room with them - which they quietly contemplated in their heads... did they want her in the room because she is their mom and they would feel safe or did they want to go it alone because they would be embarrassed to ask the Dr. about birth control... Tough call.

And then I just felt sorry for them because after this day, they will have to be here another 65 times or so - what an event to look forward to for the rest of their young lives.

They called my name and I put down my magazine that I wasn't reading anyway and walked through the door. There is no turning back now.

I arrive in the room and sit on the infamous table. To the unknowing it seems nice and comfortable. A young girl might think, "What were people talking about when they mentioned the stirrups. I don't see any of that in here."

Oh, to be so naive. How I wish I still was. The reality of the gynecologist is much like the the reality of Santa Claus. You want so badly to show that you are a grown-up and no longer believe and then you realize it was so much better never knowing!

I sit down on the table: camouflaged to make you feel comfortable. The nurse takes my blood pressure which seems like an odd thing to do. I mean there is no way that the reading she gets is my true blood pressure. I mean c'mon... I am about to expose myself in the most personal way to a person I only see once a year... Really? I think my blood pressure is a little heightened.

If the physically exposing deal isn't enough to dread - now comes the scale. You walk over to it...that huge metal thing that always shows you much heavier than that scale you have in your bathroom does.

They don't even give you time to take your shoes off... even though in another 5 minutes you are going to be stark naked. Nope, they weigh you fully clothed and when you see that nurse keep pushing that scale thing to the right, you just want to sink to the ground. Not to mention wish that you hadn't eaten that entire pint of Ben and Jerry's last night.

Okay, so I had one horror done and one to go. The nurse points to the gown on the camouflaged table and says to take all my clothes off and put the gown on with the opening in the front - of course, why leave any dignity? And then mentions, there is another sheet to cover your legs. Gee, how thoughtful.

So, I undress. I fold my clothes neatly on the chair - something I would never do at home and then tuck my undies and bra inside of them. How ridiculous, really. I am about to show a person my most private of things and yet, I don't want them to see my undergarments!

I walk over to that table which is only taunting me with its hidden agenda and I proceed to put the gown on. Its one size fits most and it certainly isn't flattering. I cover up the rest of me - which is most of me because the gown is so awkward.

And then, I sit there. Completely vulnerable. As I look around the room for absolutely anything to read to attempt to get my mind off what is coming next... I look down at myself and realize - I am fricking dressd in nothing more than a large sheet of toilet paper. This gown, as they affectionately call, it is nothing more than one huge sheet of toilet paper. No man would stand for that...

Just as I start to think about how much toilet paper it took to create this beautiful gown, the Dr. knocks and comes in.

So, as you sit there naked under the Charmin, she asks you questions... Its like they believe you feel equal and confident enough in your toilet paper covering to "really talk" about what is going on in your life. The intimate questions you can barely ask your friends while you are dressed fashionably and drinking wine, you are supposed to ask this stranger while you are half naked on a table. A table which is about to become a torture chair.

I say as little as possible. And the exam begins. The Dr. makes small talk and all I can think about is how soon will this be over.

"A little pressure" they always say as you are about to scream bloody murder and then BAM its over.

"You can get dressed now." "See you in 12 months."

Now is when they should take your blood pressure...

"Yep, I say see you next year."

I can hardly wait!