The Female Connection

Warning the following post contains words like: Ladies' doctor, breasts and "down there".

 A few weeks ago I went to my annual ladies' doctors appointment.  A delightful experience for all ladies between the age of 20 and infinity.  When I arrived, I sat in the waiting room looking at a randomly selected magazine from the stack next to me (Horse and Rider?) and while flipping through it, tried to survey the rest of the ladies in the room.  You know we all do it.  You wonder what they are "in for"  - some obvious, by the looks of their expanding waistline - they are in the family way.  Others are older, and you think they may be menopausal.  Others are like me, well with in baby producing years and also

surreptitiously looking over their magazines.  I don't know why it is, but when I go for my ladies' doctors appointment, I feel like I probably wear some sign only visible to other people that says "I'm here to make sure 'things' down there are alright."

They call my name and although I know in my mind that they said "KaraLynne," I wonder if perhaps everyone else, including myself, hears "The girl that is going to throw privacy to the wind and bare all" and of course, since I stood up - they all know I am that girl.  I don't know why it is, but I cant look the nurse in the eye and mumble my hellos when she greets me.  She knows for sure why I am there.  So I try to act nonchalant as we do my blood pressure, weight check, heart rate (which I'm sure is starting to race) and then that awkward moment where you sit fully clothed on the exam bench (the stage?) and answer any number of questions.  When was your last period?  Was it normal?  I feel like I am in an interview for a job.  "What would you say is your biggest weakness?" "I would have to say - feeling like I am on trial over my care, maintenance and usage of my lady parts when I am a mature, 28 year old woman."

Then she leaves, with instructions to disrobe and put on the cheery, floral patterned cloth drape.  It is time to await the judge's entrance.  No matter how slowly I work through this process, I always end up waiting naked, barely covered in that cheery cloth, for what seems like a long time.  I look around the room, trying to find something interesting to look at.  Rubber uterus's, pregnancy stage posters, contraceptive devices and pamphlets.   As if I haven't learned my lesson before, I hop off the "stage' to get a better look at the rubber uterus.  Id like to think we all get a little fascinated by rubber organs in a doctor's office.  But every time I do this, I am found by the doctor's entrance, either running back to the "stage" in a hurry because I hear them coming (and looking quite wild as my cape flaps behind me in my nude glory) or interrupted mid poke of said rubber organ.  In these cases I am a bit mortified and apologetic to be found playing with a rubber organ.  I laugh uneasily and think how the embarrassment level just raised to a code Red as I make my way back to the stage and try to climb up with as much lady like finesse as I can possibly muster. 

The exam:  On top the stage, I have the clothe wrapped tightly around me.  I don't know why I do this - holding on to the last threads of my modesty until the moment of no return?  Its not like holding it tight around me will prevent its need to be opened later.  Then I answer many more questions (made all the more awkward now that I am unclothed).  I think that I am about take a test.  I desperately want my lady parts to be approved, don't we all?  I mean, at a lady's doctors appointment, they are our essay test.  They are 80% of the grade.  You wash them extra careful that day and you hope that they meet with approval.  So I infuse a false cheerfulness and positivity into my voice as I answer about my libido, my periods, and my breasts.  If I sound happy with my lady parts, the doctor will be too, right?

The doctor stands up.  Oh, no it is time.  Judgement day.  So I act like exhibitionism is an everyday thing for me and show no embarrassment as I open my robe to the doctor.  The rest goes as any woman can tell you, poking and prodding and pretending you are not there.  I try to think of anything else - baseball, gardening, politics while the doctor grades my assets.  She just said something.  Shoot!  What did she say?  I wasn't listening, I was thinking of pulling the weeds out of my garden.  Why do they talk about the medical junk before the exam and then wait until you are on the stage, splayed out like a piece of modern art, to make small talk chit chat?  I answer with a noncommittal mumble since I have no idea what she said.  Now, I have to commit myself to listening closer.  She asks questions about how the kids liked their summer, and did we go on vacation.  I hear her tell about a recent BBQ she had with family.  I think "Yeah, this isn't at all weird."

Then the exam is over.  I breath a sigh of relief as I close my legs, sit up awkwardly and pull the robe about me again tightly.  Now it is time to hear the verdict.  Did my lady parts do me justice?  She pronounces everything looks great down there.  Phew!  Inside I am overjoyed for some reason.  I send a silent thanks down to my lady parts for doing a good job this year.  I am filled with an absurd sense of pride in my lady parts.  They didn't let me down - I passed the essay test.  Then the doctor this time tells me she is concerned with something with my breasts. I chastise my breasts for a moment, can't they pull their weight?

She doesn't think anything is really wrong with them.  But a part of them didn't seem right and so she is sending me into get an ultrasound and mammogram and to meet with a ladies' boob doctor.  I am not that concerned because this lady's doctor thinks it is probably nothing but "lets check it out anyway."  Relieved and still on a high from hearing my other parts passed I cheerfully thank her and when she leaves I get dressed and go to the checkout window.  Because of the need for an ultrasound and mammogram the secretary at the window tells me she has to make the appointments and so she gets on the phone to the breast health place and proceeds with the process.  I look around as she describes my diagnosis to the person on the phone.  I am thinking that she is talking rather loud and now everyone in the entire block must hear my boobs didn't pass.  She tells the person on the phone the terms the doctor used but I hear "Ugly Boob Syndrome."  I feel like I ought to go back and get the robe on to give everyone in the waiting room a peek since they can all hear about my prognosis. 

Fast forward one week: Ultrasound and mammogram day.  I arrive at the breast health place and check in.  The lady at the desk is all sweetness and reminds me a bit of a hug.  She brings me back to a separate waiting room just for ladies like me.  I am to sit there and wait to be called back.  I do the whole looking at a magazine but really looking at everyone else thing again.  They are all older women.  I am filled with a female longing to hug them and hope for the best for their exam.  I think, I hope that nothing is wrong for them.  I am connected to them briefly and as we exchange small smiles, I don't have to wonder why they are there but I am left wishing them the best.  I think, how tragic that anyone should have to have breast cancer.  I know I am probably alright, but perhaps they are not.  I want to give a group hug of support, but of course I do not.  I hope nobody is looking at me with sympathy - I am obviously way younger than everyone else in the room.  I look at the room for a moment and feel proud and glad that the room is cosy, well decorated and feminine.  It was a compliment to those who have to sit in it.  We are women: proud, beautiful and glorious. 

My name is called and I stand up with confidence.  I am a woman, whatever may be, I will answer to it and conquer it.  I am beautiful, even with my "Ugly Boob Syndrome."  I walk back to where they show me a few changing rooms, lockers and another sitting room.  I am to undress from the waist up and sit with another cotton robe until I am called.  I do so and sit with another woman or two, similarly dressed.  This is the moment of no return.  There is an even more definite feeling of connection with these woman.  We are all waiting to find out our fate. 

The exam itself was uncomfortable to say the least.  I got a bit nervous as it happened, wondering if perhaps there was something wrong.  The boob doctors visit later that week was another entrance into the world of a secret, sacred sisterhood.  I wanted to give every woman I saw, doctor, nurse and patient a hug and cheer for womanhood.  With its discomforts, mortifying moments (like ladies' doctor annual exams) and trials - we are still strong and beautiful.  Together we unite with each other, showing support and love.  I didn't have cancer.  My breasts were deemed ugly but healthy.  But I was thankful for the impressions, small smiles of encouragement and support that I received and gave during the whole process.  We cannot forsake each other, we have to support and uphold each other.  We are divinely created and still beautiful with our stretch marks, rearranged body parts, ugly breasts, and creaking hips.  We are all sisters, so give your sister a hug today.