mobster gynecologist

She once said I’m used to having a cocktail first and dimmer lights. The nurse practitioner laughed. And promptly said the dreaded words, scoot down. No, more, keep coming. While moving her fingers, collapsing into her own hand. She didn’t want to get any closer and would rather close her legs until the end of eternity. So that being said she was not excited in the least to be seeing a male gynecologist. It freaked her out. She only was going because something might be wrong with her. She couldn’t bear the thought of waiting any longer if she had the possibility of cancer in either of her lovely perky breasts or in her dear vagina. So she wasn’t waiting. These folks were her friends and friends needed answers. Okay she needed the answers. It was as if she had prepared herself in that moment the nurse practitioner told her that she needed to go the gynecologist, she braced for the worst. If it’s my breast, I’ll take a lot of pictures and walk around my house and beaches topless and then Sayonara. But the other spot, her vagina. That could be more complicated- what about cancer or future babies? The internet. She turned to the internet even though she shouldn’t have, Web MD was made to freak you out not console you.

She walked into the office with her friend, her female friend. She was too scared to go alone. First, there was the office. The office was the typical box size with the appropriate credentials hanging. They waited for him to come in. He came into the fog, into the stifle. He was her worst nightmare. He had a collar shirt unbuttoned too much, too far and she could see, it revealed not only a strong resemblance of manhood a hairy chest but chains, not one but many. Could you get more cliché, could you get more scary? Is he my doctor or a mobster? She might have just thrown up in her mouth or peed her pants, at least a little. He sits down in a cocky manner taking up a lot of space, his head turned to the right. He keeps asking her questions. He not only looks like a weird reminisce of the 1970’s but he is insensitive and an asshole. He asks her again and again, tone scathing, why don’t you know your mom’s history?. Is she dead or something? Are you adopted? So what does this growth look like? What do you think it is? She answered. He wasn’t interested in her answer but her friend’s. He looks at her friend, just her friend, and says the words, what do you think it is? You have seen it, right.

What a fucking creep. Now she wants to get the fuck out of there she doesn’t want to show this guy her world. To have to wait another 30 days almost seems unbearable. So although her instincts say no, she goes into the exam room. Because if she has cancer she wants to know today not in a month.

So the exam. A female nurse was there. The American gigolo/ her new doctor is now coming for her breasts. So it doesn’t feel like a tumor, but you’ll probably keep bothering me so I’ll get an ultra sound. Oh geez, thanks for the favor, she thinks to herself. Okay sit up. Lift your arms, up and down. Has your left breast always been a little bigger than your right? Yes, I think so she answers. He goes onto explain it’s the same with feet and hands and also balls. Oh, she says. He responds very quickly are you familiar with balls. I am not a fucking lesbian she thinks to herself. I mean shit if I could be one I would but this isn’t the price of right of sexuality. She is straight through and through.

She might die if this doesn’t get this over with. The scoot down thing is happening. Okay more, no more. She is beginning to sweat underneath the shitiness of the papereasque gown, her heart thumping, she is looking up at the ceiling, she is praying, she is counting, she is holding her own hands.

Okay, I know what this is. Come here. Sit up. To the nurse- get her a mirror. A mirror, what in God’s name makes this a Betty Friedan Vagina Monologue moment? So you see this. Yes pointing to the potential cancer. This is your hymen. Well actually half of your hymen. How is that possible?

Well let me draw you a diagram. So it seems like when you first had sex- part of the hymen didn’t collapse into the vagina. Meaning you still have half of yours. Cosmetic, for cosmetic reasons, I can remove it. But if it isn’t causing you any problems. It all trails off.

She can’t wait to get out of the room. To laugh- to scream- to drink- to celebrate. She not only would be keeping her breasts she had part of her virginity.