Homecoming Post 9: Cry Me a Gyna- The Girl and the Gyno pt. 3

I was really cranky after the event on the yard on Friday. I was hungry, tired, and just wanted to sit down somewhere. Yet this task was proving to be impossible because three of my requested ride share rides had either left me or dropped the ride. They all claimed that they could not find the University Center. On top of this, my sad excuse for a smart phone kept dying. My anxiety was high and I wanted to scream. Just as I opened my mouth to let out an earth-shaking holler, Happy Face and her friend were about to walk right past me. 

"Hey!" I said excitedly to Happy Face. "You are a gynecologist, right?"

"Yes," she answered, sweetly. It was then that I let out a diarrhetic spew of the nightmare that has been trying to find a good gyno in Atlanta. I especially filled her in on this last experience where the doctor threw out the words endometrial cancer without so much as a PAP or blood draw. I told her how she wanted to put me under anesthesia and give me an IUD. 

After going on and on and on with a dead phone in my hand and no way back home, I took a breath and said, "I just did not feel heard."

She rubbed my back and said, "I'm sorry. I can see you."

I was so appreciative I could have thrown myself around her ankles. If I could have taken my gyna and put it in a bag for her to take back to her hotel room to investigate I would have. Running into her was great, especially since I asked my primary care for a referral a month ago and still have not heard back. 

This is also a huge deal because I have spent my adult life trying to dodge Xavier doctors and pharmacists. I know about HIPPA and all of that, but I just imagine that they all do a Zoom call weekly and talk about all the gross medical issues their Xavierite patients have. And it's not just me. I knew someone that went to the drug store to get a morning after pill, saw the pharmacist was from Xavier and ran out of the store. That would have been my response.

But I won't be running from Happy Face. Fingers crossed that my visit, like the others I have had, won't be a complete disaster. 

The Girl and the Gyno pt 2: Gyno Heaven

Let me just say this: I have come to the conclusion that quality feminine health care is just not in the cards for me. By the time I am 40, I will be carrying my vagina in a freezer bag in my purse. Three weeks ago, I was excited about the new gynecologist I had been referred to. Today, I find myself Googling how to perform my own hysterectomy/oophorectomy at home. This is my story. 

Those of you who know me know that my gynecologist visits are not like that of the average bear. They are very emo and exhausting and tiring. There will be guaranteed tears, no matter how much I pray beforehand. However, I tried to be optimistic about my upcoming visit. I decided to make the change from my last doctor. His exam tables were high, and I nearly disconnected my hip trying to get on them.  My last visit to him was so Stephen King that we both walked away visibly shaken. So, as much as I loved the nurses at his practice, I decided to find someone else. My primary care doctor gave me a referral, and I had high hopes for my next exam. That was my first mistake. 

The office is in one of those shiny high-rise buildings with a security guard at the front entrance. I took the elevator to the office, and it was very much like a gyno office that you would see in a movie. The furniture was gorgeous and sparkly! It was like I was in Gyno Heaven! That didn't stop my anxiety from going through the roof as I waited for my appointment. 

By the time I got to the nurse to get my blood pressure taken, I was already in slow, quiet tears. I was so amped up inside that she couldn't get an accurate reading. Big surprise. So, she dumped me in an exam room and said that she would be right back. We all know that that was a lie. When doctors or nurses leave the room, it's a wrap. You are lucky not to be old and gray when they return. But the nurse did return and began asking me those stupid visit questions that have nothing to do with anything. She seemed nice, and I didn't want to get an attitude with her. But if she asked me one more stupid question about my hobbies, I was going to throw my wallet at her head! 

She could tell I was agitated and ended the questionnaire early. She handed me some Kleenex and left the room again. When she returned, she said we were switching rooms, and when I walked into the new room I gasped. It was a room with a low, fat girl friendly exam table! I couldn't believe my eyes! Two years of playing exam room double Dutch with my old gyno's exam tables and there was such a thing as a fat girl exam table?! I was in shock, and in a good way. 

This visit may go well, I said to myself. 

WRONG! Moments later, I underwent a Pap test that would have made Wes Craven nervous. Well, sort of. 

Holls and The Locked Box

The other night I woke up from a night of mixed, weird dreams, sat up straight and asked out loud, "What if my box is locked?!" I mean can that happen? I'm not sure, but what if it can and it has happened to me? What if my vag is as depressed as I am and has just shut down? Given up? This is on my mind, of course, because of the tragedy that was my last gyno visit. 

What a mess. 

If you read my blog even remotely regularly you know what a nightmare my paps are, and this last one was every bit the disaster that I thought it was going to be. I told myself a whole bunch of fluffy, positive stuff like the hippy Yoga ladies do on Youtube for a good outcome but sadly, that didn't help. I won't bore you with the ghastly details. Let's just say that me and my gyno were both visibly shaken by the horror of it all. It was so bad that the exam didn't even happen. Afterward, I sat on the examining table crying as a really compassionate nurse rubbed my back. Once I composed myself and left, I vowed never to try to get an exam again.

"You can't do that!" Bells yelled into the phone. "Papsmears are preventative care!"

Sigh. Bells is all about her preventative care. In undergrad, it was as simple as eating Special K bars for breakfast instead of my traditional stack of pancakes. Now she gets every recommended age and gender appropriate test/screening there is. The woman is going to live to be 206! 

"It hurt!" I yelled, and boy, did it. One crank of that tongy thing in my junk took my breath away. 

"Well it's uncomfortable for sure," she agreed. "But you have to get them done."

I called Savannah in a panic about the whole thing and she met my anxiety with her usual cool, Cali-carefree demenor. 

"Savannah, I am the only woman I have ever heard of that needed emotional support from a nurse after a routine pap!" I cried into the phone. 

"Oh, that's just because you are a little sensitive," she said. 

SENSITIVE?!

"You need to get some toys," Mama Savannah, Savannah's mom, echoed from the passagenger seat. I was on speaker phone. "Or some D."

D?! Everyone is a comedian. 

And then the other night it all came to me after my weird dreams. My vag has locked up, taking with it any hope (all be it small) that I had of ever having a relationship or a normal, grown-up lady life. And I can't say that I am mad at her. I think I would shut down too if I was as un-social as she is. It's time to just stop caring and embrace the hand-me-down thrifted turtle necks and easy-fit gender neutral blue jeans. It's a wrap! 

"Shut up, your junk didn't lock up," one of my medical buddies said in a very annoyed tone. "That's like me saying that my ear has closed up or my eye or something."

Is it? It doesn't sound the same. 

I can't lie, this whole situation makes me a little sad. Oh the whoas of being the only woman alive with a passive peach. 

Gyno-oh-no

I have to go to the gynecologist next week for my annual exam. 

Maybe this would not be such a huge ordeal if I wasn't still traumatized from my last visit. WHAT A DISASTER! There were a lot of tears, a lot of anxiety, and a lot of stress. I don't even get why I even have to go. I don't get any action. The chances of my actually utilizing my box are about as slim as an anorexic White girl!  Not to mention that I almost killed myself trying to get on the examination table last time. It was so high! I had to run and jump to get on it and the damn thing almost flipped over on me! Can you imagine a more unfortunate way to die than getting smushed under an exam table while preparing for a routine pap?! I'd rather my family tell my friends that I was shot in a whore house raid. 

On top of the horror of it all, I am currently beefing with my gyno. A few weeks ago, I thought that I might be getting a yeast infection (TMI), and if you read my blog, you recall how mortifying my last one was. It was my first one ever, and I was hysterical! I know what you are thinking: you were 36, how is that possible? I had the same question. Since I had never had one, I thought somehow that I was immune to them. Spoiler alert: I'M NOT! Anywho, I mentally could not handle the melodrama of last year, so I called and asked the nurse at the gyno office to ask the doc to write me a prescription for a common yeast infection medication. Long story short, he said no. HE SAID NO! He said he wanted me to come in, even though I had just been in for blood work this summer and already had an upcoming appointment on the books. Then the nurse tells me that I can either come in or go to urgent care. URGENT CARE? Why would I do that if I have a f&*king gynecologist?! What am I, a commoner? The reason why I got a gynecologist with an address and a mailbox and a degree was so that I would not have to sit in a crowded urgent care room, silently praying over my crotch while being sneezed on by the COVID positive. Being told no by a man in this situation outraged me so much that I can't even explain it. 

When I think about arriving for my visit, I imagine being dragged into the office and across the carpet by a giant as I scream and claw at the floor. Winter is already an emotional landmine for me, I honestly can't take any more drama. We have come so far in science as a country, how is there no at-home pap test women can perform on themselves in the privacy of their homes? I could easily do mine as I caught up on reruns on Hulu. Ah, to wish on a star. 

I will keep yall posted on what will inevitably be another fine nightmare. Yay. 

Holls and the Gyno

Holly, you can not go through your 30s without going to the gynecologist! Bells texted me. I could actually hear her shrill voice yelling at me through the text, tapdancing on my nerves.
Yes, I know that you are supposed to go the gynecologist regularly even though I do not. You see, I choose to treat my vagina with the medicine of my ancestors: soap, water, and prayer.
There is no type of doctor on the face of the earth that I trust LESS than a gynecologist. However, my mentor told me that 2018 needs to be the year when I become proactive, not reactive with my health. So after my primary care visit, I began to look into finding a gynecologist.
Before I even started my search for a gyno, I knew that it was going to be a chore. There is that small, HUGE issue regarding me not being insured so my gyno would have to be cheap. So I am prepared for the doctor I find to see two patients at a time, reuse dirty tools, or operate out of a gas station bathroom. I also would like for my gyno to be a she, and not have a ton of bad reviews online. She would also have to understand that I have self-diagnosed vag shame and am HIGHLY uncomfortable with anyone taking a peek at my goods.
Searching local doctors in Atlanta was hard. I could tell from the location of the doctor's offices that I couldn't afford to be seen there. And then I came across a doctor who was perfect. I was taken by her smile and professional photo. Her eyes were warm. I just felt like I knew her, then I realized I did. She went to college with me.
This doctor is actually one of those upperclassman girls from the bathroom at homecoming which reminded me of my number one gyno requirement: I can't know her! I don't need someone I know looking at my vag and judging me and then telling my business. And let me just say that I know that doctors talk! I can't have my graduating class knowing my stats. They know too much about me as is.
So unofficially, my gyno search is still going on, although, I do think I have found something better: a self-pap kit I came across online. I will keep you posted.