kimberliah…

How many women can honestly say that they look forward to their yearly Pap Smear?  Anyone???  Is it a weird fetish in any circles?  Are there ladies running around to every listed gynecologist, within a 250 miles radius, attempting to get a Pap Smear on a weekly basis?  Are they having to dodge their insurance companies and pay for the procedure out-of-pocket?  Is there an underground clinic that these woman have to turn to, in order to get their fix?

(Photo credit: Todd Barnard)

I can, without a doubt say that I consider myself among the Pap Smear haters. In fact,  I may even be an extremest.

Recently ADD Brain relented and allowed me to make an appointment with my physician.  I was down to my very last migraine pill and I’ll be damned if my swirly brain was going to allow me to completely run out.  It had been about 2 years since I had graced the inside of her office and my friendly nurse practitioner was not exactly thrilled about that little fact.  Her joy plummeted even further when she asked when my last Pap Smear had been…  I could have lied…. Shit, I SHOULD have lied.  We had just moved back from Texas about 2 years ago…. I totally should have told her that I had one done there.  Anything would have been better than “Well…. I had a baby about 7 years ago.”  She totally wanted to take her little laptop and smash it upside my head…. Trust me, I can tell these types of things.  Instead she did something even more cold-hearted and calculating.  She took one of the few things I hold dear and used it against me.  Her level of Evil completely maxed out…. off the fucking charts.  She calmly looked at me and stated that she would write-up my migraine prescription, AFTER I completed some standard lab work and came back in for my dog-yearly Pap Smear.

I wanted to cry.  I don’t like being out-eviled and I really don’t like allowing people who I have never even shared a meal with, near my naked vagina.

…and so that explains why I am, where I am.  Sitting in a waiting room, alone.  There is not another soul in here…. and this waiting room is usually packed.  It is usually common courtesy to allow a stranger to perch on your lap, because the 25 chairs that are provided are never enough.  Yet, today… right now…. there is no one!  Only me.  Did they only schedule me, during this time frame, because of  The Smear?  Were they worried that my vagina was going to emit some kind of intrusive odor that would clear the entire building?  Seriously!  Where the funk IS everyone???

My name is called, before I even have time to warm the plastic chair that I’m sitting in.  Obviously they want to get this done as quickly as I do.  There’s going to be a vagina exposition today and absolutely nobody is thrilled about it.  I gently step onto the scale, as directed and try to hide a smile as she places the big marker thingy to “100″  … One of these days I’ll tell them that it goes straight to 150, but I enjoy watching them assume that I weigh less than I do.  It’s Explore-my-Vagina Day… I’ll take all the little tidbits of happiness that I can wrangle up, damn it!  As she is taking my blood pressure, she asks what I’m here for, today…  is this a trick question?  Does she really not know?  Does she just want to watch my discomfort as I attempt to push the words Pap and Smear past my lips?  I make sure to add that the nurse practitioner is the one who initiated all this foolishness.  Don’t want her thinking I actually made this appointment WILLINGLY… or that I care about my health or anything.

…and in the blink of an eye, I’m in the exam room.  I’m standing here uncomfortably, staring at poster of a foot affected by gout, as she prepares the room.  Loading the special tray with special creams and special contraptions.  I stare at Gout-Foot, unblinking, until she turns to me holding what will be my complete outfit for the next 30 minute. Top one opens to the front, bottom one opens to the back.  Have fun!!!

Allow me to explain… The “top” is actually a newborn sized bolero jacket, made out of white tissue paper.  The “bottom” is roughly the size of a large bath towel and is fashioned from the same material as the top.

Not good times for my L-XL wearing ass.  My bolero jacket immediately rips down the left side the moment I maneuver my ass atop the examination table.  My left breast attempt to make a run for it and I spend the rest of my visit physically holding my boob into its proper place.  During that one quick movement my left shoulder manages to Incredible Hulk its way through the flimsy material.  I am left with a confetti sized piece of tissue paper holding the shoulder together.

After 2 minutes I notice sweat beginning to form in places that I do NOT want sweat forming.  I shift around, trying to allow for some air flow.  As I shift, a rip forms in the sheet covering my lower half.  This was not going well.  Footsteps continuously are passing my door but, never stopping.  ADD Brain is currently enthralled  in a Stage 5 Temper Tantrum.  There is nothing to do except sit, completely still and attempt to look at Gout-Foot out of the corner of my eye.  I am not chancing anymore movement-inspired wardrobe malfunctions.

The minutes are continuing to tick by.  My boob is getting heavy… sweat is pouring from anything still covered in tissue paper… Gout-Foot is now staring back at me.  As I begin to consider  just attempting to do the damned Pap Smear myself,  the door creaks open.   My tiny Asian doctor enters the room.  She makes some small talk, climbs inside my vagina to take some samples, makes some more small talk, pushes my boobs in circles, tells me to call in 2 weeks for the results and leaves.

So, here I am…  sitting on the exam table, wondering what the hell just happened.  I slowly move myself to an upright position, on the floor… remove all the wet tissue paper that is stuck to my butt-cheeks and get dressed.  After a quick good-bye to my old friend Gout-Foot… me, my vagina and my left boob leave the exam room.

…and solemnly perform the Pap Smear Walk of Shame back to my car.

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