Going to the OB-GYN is what I’d envision it would be like to go to the vet as a cat. It’s only a step or two ahead along the evolutionary path that prevents us from hissing and kicking during a PAP smear.
I was in a bad relationship with my gynecologist. Not a relationship that crossed any ethical lines, but rather one that just wasn’t good for my self-esteem.
I call her Gynosaur – and not like the cute herbivores that nibble on tree tops but rather the carnivorous little gremlins in Jurassic Park that lull you and then spit acid in your face.
These are just two of the delightful conversations we’ve had:
Gynosaur: So, you’ve put on a little weight, huh?
Me: What?!
Gynosaur: You weigh ten pounds more than last year.
Me: I do?!
Gynosaur: Ten pounds is a lot to pack on in a year.
Me: [Flustered, embarrassed and naked] I-I I don’t feel much, um, I… Am I…I really don’t think I’ve gained any weight.
Gynosaur: [Flipping through chart] Yep. And two years ago you put on… Oh… Never mind.
Me: How much? Is this a problem? Do I need to be on a diet?
Gynosaur: It looks like you were at 134 at 18-years-old…four more pounds then now.
Me: Four pounds in eight years? Is that bad? Am I fat? Do I need to be on a diet?
Gynosaur: Okay, sit back and I’ll do the breast exam.
Me: [WTF?]
Later, I recalled just having come off a two-week bout with the flu before last year’s visit. I had dropped 10 lbs in two weeks, but didn’t want to cancel the appointment because it was insanely difficult to reschedule.
But it wasn’t until this, that I decided to break-up with Gynosaur and get a new OB-GYN:
Gynosaur: What are you doing for physical activity?
Me: I started running with a club.
Gynosaur: How far?
Me: [proudly] I’m actually training for my first marathon this fall.
Gynosaur: So, are you the slowest one?
Me: [Flustered pause] I-I, well, I’m not going to win the race. [WTF?]
You’re fat and slow. That’s exactly the gentle and encouraging approach to woman’s health care that I want in a female doctor who’s got me spread eagle on a table and about to become very medically intimate with my person.
Last week I had a physical from a new GP. Upon checking my breasts, she asks me, “Have your nipples always looked like that?” Um? Like what? She said she would blush if she could (she’s black) and told me she was embarrassed it came out like that but never really told me what looked so odd about my cans.
Oh boy. I’ve been in this relationship before. Time to to move on. You can’t buy manners. Apparently you can’t buy bedside manners either.
*For the record, my nipples look like every other nipple I’ve ever seen. And I’m positive the Gynosaur would have taken that easy shot if my nipples were abnormal.
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