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The Gyno. Blood like whoa

3 May 2012

Once I had figured out that I had a willing partner (more on that later) and lots of pent-up sexual frustration, I decided to be an adult and go to the gyno. For the first time in my life. When I was 25. Insane, right? Whenever I’d wonder aloud to my mother, “Don’t you think I should go by now?” She’d reply, “Well, there’s no need to go until you’re going to get married.” The clear fact that I wasn’t anywhere near that blissful state made no impression on her, or perhaps she was just in denial. She had gotten married at 22, so went to the gynecologist when she was engaged and 21 years old. The fundamentalist life can be very easy in a certain, perverse, ignorance-is-bliss kind of way.

So I went to a gyno recommended by my friend (it was that or stick my finger in the White Pages) who was described to me as “touchy-feely” and “new agey.” Since I hadn’t even looked at my own anatomy a whole lot, and still at this point in my life–25, remember?–was using pads instead of tampons, I wanted as soft a transition as possible. So I set up the appointment, freaked out a little, and went.

Turns out, the wonderful Dr. New Age had switched offices since my friend last went, and was now affiliated with a university medical center. The office didn’t seem all that touchy-feely to me, but maybe the standards for friendliness are much lower in the medical profession. Anyway, I made sure everyone knew that it was my first time. Like, the receptionist, the nurse practitioner, the woman who took my blood pressure…

Dr. New Age was nice, if rushed, and not New Agey, in the least, although she was refreshingly direct and supportive. When she asked why I had come in I told her that I had just recently become sexually active, and she replied “Congratulations!” “Yes,” I thought, “Congratulations! I’m awesome.” (I conveniently ignored the fact that 13-year-olds all over the world have been happily humping away for centuries. Hey, late bloomer.)

And then she stuck the speculum in.

Ho-ly fuck.



I have never been in such pain, ever, in my entire life. Her “soft belly” whatever-the-hell breathing she told me to do was not helpful, and we were way beyond the point of New Age crap. FUCK! She was reassuringly calm, but then when she stuck her hands in me to tap around my ovaries, and pulled them out again they were covered in blood. Like, it was dripping from her glove.

Friends, obviously my family didn’t prepare me for this. Is the first time (please, dear God, let it be only the first time) this painful for everyone? I got my first Gardasil shot (another thing my lovely parents didn’t do for me–they stupidly, stupidly assumed that their daughter wouldn’t have sex AND would marry someone who hadn’t AND wouldn’t remarry, and so decided to gamble my risk of contracting cancer from sexually transmitted HPV on their version of Christian beliefs…but I’m rambling) and then pulled up my underwear and left, positively dripping blood. There was a pool of it in my underwear when I checked hours later. I still had blood spotting the next day! Goddamn, it was a lot of blood.

Needless to say, this did not ease my mind about the “First Time,” which was going to be in a few days.

One Comment leave one →
  1. 23 June 2012 05:15

    Oh god that’s scary! In my country we don’t go to the gynaecologist unless there’s something wrong with us – we’re lucky! (we have school nurses, sexual health clinics, GPs though).

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