Well, cripers, this is my 300th entry. That is far too many.
I thought I would commemorate the occasion by telling you about my very first gynecological appointment; oh joy.
I think I was a free spirited little kid, but as soon as puberty hormones started to rear their ugly little heads, I was soon mortified by every aspect of life. When I got my first menstrual period, instead of running to my mother�s arms & confidence ala �Dear God It�s Me, Margaret�, I told no one. When my mother asked me if I had started menstruating (she did my laundry, after all), I turned a beat shade of red and blurted: �NO!� We never spoke of it again, but she always was sure to keep the drawer of maxi pads in full stock. I regret depriving her of that mother-daughter bonding moment.
Needless to say, I did not have a very open relationship with my parents about my body and it�s changes henceforth; no one ever talked to me about getting an annual exam of my womanly area. When I moved to New York after high school, instead of talking to me about birth control, my Dad just shouted at me accusingly: �You are going to get pregnant!�
By the time I was 19 and living in San Francisco & heard my friends talking about it enough, I figured it was about time I went to see what all the fuss was about. I made an appointment at the free clinic in the Haight Ashbury. I was terribly nervous while I waited, because I had no idea what to expect.
After a bit, I was taken into the exam room and greeted by a woman who can best be described as a jolly hippy; rotund and rosy with a petrouli halo, like a cross between Santa Claus and a cast member of GODSPELL. She spoke in a singsong voice and tried to make me feel comfortable while I stretched out in half a paper dress.
While examining me, she named each part of my female anatomy. �Where is your clitoris?� She wondered aloud. �OH! There it is! It was hiding under the hood!�
With the clampy thing opening me up for full view, she pulled out a mirror and had me take a look. She pointed out my cervix and said it looks like a blue flower. There, reflecting in the mirror back at me, was indeed a pretty blue flower.
For being my first time at the vagina doctor, it sort of skewed my perception. I have since then only had male doctors and none of them ever offered me a look and thank god they never wondered aloud about my clitoris.