300 ENTRIES AND/OR VISITS TO THE GYNECOLOGIST
2:21 p.m. on November 23, 2005

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.





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paleo neo