The annual

There are few things that really make me uncomfortable. Wet feet, tight shoes, lies… but the one on the top of my list, is definitely the well known annual gynecological exam. First, you have to wax; there is no way out. Second, you need to dress nice, even though you will certainly take it off.
Today, I had to do it. It is a healthy and smart obligation, I know. But couldn’t this be a little less awkward?
I got there before 9, read some terrible stories in the waiting room, ranging from tortures done by the Hamas (and the Bush administration probably involved) to Lindsay Lohan revealing herself as a lesbian. Had to answer those horrible, yet pattern, questions… Then, I was called.
The nurse, clearly bored. She asked me to strip without even let me warm up in the situation. I told her that in my past experiences people wanting me naked would at least get me in the mood for… talk a little… she didn’t laugh.
After a while, I was undressed when the doctor came in. She started asking me the same awkward questions from the chart. Are you sex active? Do you have sex with men, women or both? Do you have vaginal, anal or… You know those questions…I had to answer it all over again, wondering what is the percentage that actually says the truth.
But the real problem at that time was the fact that I wasn’t understanding what my doctor was saying. Seriously, she had some kind of problem on her throat or something. I had to say I’m sorry all the time. Not only I was naked, not only I was exposing the quantity of drinks I have and how many times I drink…but also I didn’t understand her English.
After the questions, the actual drama. Lay down, open my legs and pray for the best. I have to make a pause right here. I have to express my feelings about it. I FEEL LIKE BEING FUCKED BY A STRANGER!!! I’m sorry it does sounds terrible, but is true. It hurts and you know you are not getting any pleasure from that. On the opposite.
To make a long story short, she was finally done. But now was time for the verdict. We went to her office, and I asked… was everything okay?She actually looks to her screen and says oh, no!!! Oh my god… I’m so sorry.It is Chlamydia, Gonorrhea… or HIV? or cancer? … Jesus!!! She looked at me and said again, I’m sorry…. I was already praying when she said… my computer has been down for weeks…
I wanted to kill her. Are you kidding me?
From there I just got some different pills, a lecture of contraceptive methods, and the feeling that I was labeled: Drinks too much, occasionally, no boyfriend and has big hips caused by the pill. Needs to come back in three months. Hopefully, with better news. That would be less inches on the hips and “a partner”. Gizz..