Between the ages of 13 and 20 every blossoming woman’s life is filled with milestones: high school at 14, driver’s license at 16, adulthood at 18.
And then there are the milestones that aren’t defined by ages, but rather by firsts: first kiss, first heart break, first time realizing the stairs leading directly into your basement from the garage were a gift from God.
Somewhere in there, of course, is your first time, which is generally followed by a not-so-popular first: the first gyno appointment.
At 22, I am long past my first encounter with the gynecologist. Unfortunately, due to flighty college years, I’ve had first appointments with three different gynecologists all around the country.
Going to a gynecologist is not like going to a pediatrician or a family practitioner. During your standard physical, you get felt up at best. At the gyno, they actually have holsters to indicate how far to spread ‘em so the doc can ram her digits up your muffin.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Doe. I will be doing your physical today. May I start with your blood pressure?”
Or...
“Hello, I’m Dr. Pootang. I will be inserting myself inside you today. Will you open your vagina for me now?”
Two of the three gynecologists I’ve visited have used flattery to ease the awkward dynamic.
“Has anyone told you you have fantastic abs?” Gyno Number One asked me while she had one hand inside me and one on my lower abdomen to feel my ovaries. “How do you get them so firm?”
“Sit ups,” I muttered, vowing to binge on peanut butter by the spoonful and ice cream to assure my stomach flopped over my jeans if I ever decided to come back.
Astonishingly, the next one just got weirder.
“Ok, Kiera, I’m just going to take a quick peak,” my last gyno told me before we got started. “It might feel a little cold.”
“Alright.”
“Wow. You have a very pretty vagina. I mean gooorgeous. I bet the boys can’t wait to get in there!”
“Yeah, they’re just banging on my front door,” I said, resorting to my usual combo of sarcasm and innuendo I reserve for severe verbal violations of my body.
Unfortunately, my friends didn’t have much better luck during their first visits.
“Will this hurt?” my friend Melanie asked her gynecologist.
“Not if you’ve had a dick inside of you.”
Liz, who, in fact, had not had a dick inside of her, was met with advice for her sexual future.
“Here you go honey, let’s just get this situated in there. You know, sweetheart, this is what sex is going to feel like.”
We spent the evening convincing a very disturbed Liz that a penis was not a metal clamp that looked like a hair curler and that her first lay probably wouldn’t check her uterus for abnormalities.
It takes girls a long time, sometimes the duration of their teenage years, to allow someone else to touch them in that mysterious spot in- between their legs. There’s a lot of trust involved in building a relationship with someone else that will eventually lead to that.
But with a gynecologist, you just have to walk in there, endure awkward introductions, and open wide. The two of you could still be on “What year are you in school?” while she has her hand up your cooter.
Although it’s not on the same pedestal as losing your virginity or graduating high school, surviving your first Pap smear should be up there with one of those things that makes you that much more grown up.
So Ladies, your first gyno visit will probably be uncomfortable, humiliating, violating and an overall invasion of privacy. But keep in mind that we’ve all been through it. And you would be less of a woman if you didn’t bare it too.
And to all the guys out there: cut us some slack, would you? We all know you have invasive physicals as well, but has the pretty nurse ever stuck her fist so far inside of you that you wonder if there’d be an echo if you shouted? Yeah, didn’t think so.
So the next time your girlfriend complains about her upcoming gyno appointment, refrain from the “eeuws” and the puking noises and instead take a moment to appreciate everything she does just to have sex with you.
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