In my opinion, there’s only one thing worse for a woman than a visit to have a root canal: going to the gynecologist’s office. In fact, I’d rather have a root canal, to be honest. It’s much less intrusive and I don’t have to remove any of my clothing. The thing about going to the gynecologist is that it’s rarely ever just for a verbal consultation, although those can happen occasionally. Most women only go to a gynecologist for their yearly exam or if they have a problem. For a doctor to see in detail exactly what you have going on, they have to use cold metal instruments and messy gels. Anyhow, I won’t go into a lot of gory detail. But I’ll say this: thinking about how uncomfortable it is for women to go to the gynecologist, have you ever looked at it from the doctor’s point of view?
I’ve always wondered why a doctor would choose to specialize in women’s health, so I asked my gynecologist one day. He told me that while he was in medical school, his wife started having a lot of female problems, and they even had trouble conceiving. He said that he did so much research to try to figure out his wife’s problems that he at one point realized he was becoming an expert. So his career path seemed like a good choice to him. That made a lot of sense. I wonder if he’s ever had an experience like the one in the joke below. This has ben making the rounds on social media again, and we’re not sure if it ever happened, but it’s too good not to share. Enjoy!
In Melbourne, Florida, one of the radio stations paid money ($100-500) for people to tell their most embarrassing stories. This one won hands down:
I was due later in the week for an appointment with the gynecologist, when early one morning I received a call from his office. I had been rescheduled for early that morning at 9:30 am.
I had just packed everyone off to school and it was 8:45 already.
The trip to his office usually took about 35 minutes, so I didn’t have any time to spare.
As most women do, I’m sure, I like to take a little extra effort over hygiene when making such visits, but this time I wasn’t going to be able to make the full effort.
So I rushed upstairs, threw off my dressing gown, wet the washcloth and gave myself a wash in “that area” in front of the sink, taking extra care to make sure I was presentable.
I threw the washcloth in the clothes basket, put some clothes on, hopped in the car, and raced to my appointment.
I was in the waiting room only a few minutes when the gynecologist called me in.
Knowing the procedure, as I’m sure you all do, I hopped up on the table, looked over at the other side of the room and pretended I was in Hawaii or some other place a million miles away from there.
I was a little surprised when he said, “My, we have taken a little extra effort this morning, haven’t we?” but I didn’t really understand what he meant and didn’t respond.
When the appointment was over, I heaved a sigh of relief and went home.
The rest of the day was fairly normal. I did some shopping, cleaning, prepared the evening meal, etc.
At 8:30 that evening, my 14-year-old daughter was getting ready to go to a school dance, when she called down from the bathroom, “Mom – where’s my washcloth?”
I called back for her to get another from the cabinet.
She called back down, “No! I need the one that was here by the sink. It had all my glitter and sparkles in it!”
