This blog post is part of the BOAW Blogfest 2018, organized by August McLaughlin, founder of the “Girl Boner” brand.
To check out more blog posts, follow the fest and maybe win a fun price, please go to August McLaughlin’s blog and check out the blog fest here: http://www.augustmclaughlin.com/beauty-woman-blogfest-vii/
I’m still not sure in what category this post belongs. In a way, it’s a health post more than a beauty post. But since beauty and health belong together, it might be both. Then I found out it is a quite ‘clinical’ post… more medical than anything else, and still: at the end I’m talking about a woman’s most private body parts, which makes it very much non-sexual, but still enough to probably belong into the GB version of Augusts blog fest. And that’s why it’s here.
What I said before I find essential to my life. Health and beauty belong together in my opinion. When I feel like a piece of seven-year-old cheese, having a fever, a horrible headache or suffer from constipation, it doesn’t matter how much makeup I plaster my face with, I’m grumpy and unwell, and I won’t be able to shine. I’m miserable, and it shows. A radiant woman is beautiful, a woman who takes care of herself is beautiful. A radiant woman is one who’s healthy and shows it. A woman like this is beautiful. To be and stay healthy, and to make sure we discover early enough if that’s not the case, occasional visits to the doctor belong to our life. But there is this one appointment, no matter how healthy we keep us – this one annual visit – we all hate from the bottom of our hearts.
There is this one picture that’s burned into our thoughts, memories, and brains, forever. That chair. The most hated chair on Earth – and no, it’s not the one at the dentist. It’s the one that’s about 1000 times worse than the dentist’s most valuable possession.
In every woman’s life, there is this one annual medical examination that turns the most peaceful nun into a maddening fury: Her visit to the gynecologist.
You sit in the doctor’s office, talk to your gynecologist for a couple of minutes before he tells you: “Go over there and undress down below.”
You disappear behind that wall and take your pants or skirt and undies off. And I keep asking myself two questions: “My doctor sees everything in only a few moments. What the hell is this wall for?” And: “If ‘undressing my lower regions’ mean everything – what the hell am I going to do with my socks?
Then you take place in that really, really embarrassing chair. You half lean, half sit there in the most unsettling position. And then your gynecologist tells you the first of two standard sentences: “Could you please slide down closer to me.” I always feel like telling him: “Hey, Mister. If I slide down even a couple of inches closer, I’m going to sit on your face! – But who the hell cares. I’m already laying here in the weirdest position you can imagine… go ahead and stick into me whatever you feel like.” Whoops… of course I’d never say that, but I guess, the women who are going through this regularly know what I mean.
He does whatever he has to do to find out if everything is okay. I doubt I need to describe the confusing and often cold touch of the instruments and the uncomfortable feelings. Of course, this examination is necessary and often lifesaving! I am grateful to have the chance to go to these examinations be lucky enough my doctor screens for early detection of a disease or illness! But this doesn’t make it any better.
In the end, the gynecologist usually checks your breasts, which is a good and necessary thing to do as well. But it’s not less embarrassing than the upsetting position in that chair.
I’m positioned there like a stranded whale, and the next thing I hear is the second, deeply disturbing standard sentence: “I’m sorry, my hands are cold.” And here I am, laying as still as I can, thinking with all my mighty thoughts: “Don’t’ get hard, you nipples… relax… Do. Not. Get. Hard.” – Usually, no focus is going to help to avoid the unavoidable. The doctor’s hands are cold! Dammit.
After the examination, you get dressed again, which is probably happening much faster than the undressing, even more, if you decided to keep your socks on.
At my last examination, my gynecologist told me: “You know, I realized you’re my patient for quite some time… let’s see: It’s over 20 years now.” I nodded and looked at him, replying: “Yes, I know. And this makes you officially the longest relationship I was ever in.” He smirked. “Business cooperation you mean?” And my answer was: “Business, yeah, sure, haha. What other man gets that close to me?” He laughed loudly.
And yes, I think it’s a good thing to pick a gynecologist with a good sense of humor!