"Open Wide..."

    "Open wide!" Yes, that's what my dentist says, but I really wish my gynecologist said it, too: I mean, let's call a spade a spade: that's what I'm here for, isn't it? Let's not beat around the bush (can't believe I just wrote that) about my blood pressure, or his new recipe for cream of cauliflower soup: put the "paper gown" on, put my feet in the stirrups, and let's get it over with, Doc.

    I just got back from a visit to my gynecologist: he's a lovely, lovely man, very soft-spoken and compassionate, with a uniquely Jewish sense of life's realities. ("Yes, you could lose 5 pounds, but no more: you don't want to look gaunt.") And when I remind him that I'm only 5 feet, one inch high, he straightens up to his 5 feet, 3 inch height and says "What, that's not tall enough?"

    Two of my friends went with me. Nancy and Ali had appointments within 20 minutes of mine, 20 minutes of each other: we've done this for a few years now. We call it our "Gyno Party", and are totally unashamed of this, as corny (and by corny I mean weird and old-personish) as it is. Hey, if some guy, no matter how sweet and soft-spoken, is going to look up my hoo-ha...well, there'd better be shopping and lunch involved afterwards.

    So, after stripping naked, donning the paper gown ("paper gown":  best oxymoron ever), and putting my feet in the aforementioned stirrups, I always tell the doctor same joke: "If you hear a creak, Doc, it's just the Vault Door opening..." No, it's not particularly funny, but it helps me concentrate on something other than What's Going On Down There and What Will He Find? The Lost Continent of Atlantis, perhaps, or something even more sinister?

    My former gynecologist, a tall, icy blond, had a French Poodle who accompanied her into the exam room, and she talked to the poodle more than she talked to me. Now, I was a little skeeved out by this, and there are two reasons why I really had no business being skeeved:

#1. I love dogs, much, much more than I love gynecologists.
#2. I was in the doctor's exam room because I had a pretty embarrassing situation going on: a tick was stuck tight to my, as we say in elementary school, privates.

    As you can see, I was in no position to be skeeved out or judgmental towards anyone (or any dog.) But she was not amused by my Vault Door joke, and I changed gynecologists.  

    The hell with her and her French Poodle. If I really have to chat at the gynecologist's, I'd much rather talk about cream of cauliflower soup recipes, with someone my own height.