Sex Ed Did Not Prepare Me For This, Part 1

As a small child, when I asked where babies came from, I learned about chicken eggs, fertilization and incubation.  In middle school, my classmates and I were taught about hormones, nocturnal emissions and fallopian tubes.  Since then, I have encountered about ten million things that made me think, "Sex Ed did not prepare me for this."  I cannot possibly address them all in a single blog, so I'll consider this "Part One," and focus on three challenges that vaginas often face without any forewarning.

1.  Vaginas are not allowed to have bad moods.  If we are melancholic, disgruntled or particularly assertive about our needs or points of view, others often assume that we will get over whatever is bothering us within the next five days.

2.  Ever hear of Honeymoon Cystitis?  Young brides would go off on their honeymoons, start having sex (or have a lot more than usual), and come back with urinary tract infections.  Then, they go on antibiotics and wind up with yeast infections.  These two problems are possible--and excruciating, as I hear it--for penises, but far more common amongst vaginas.  The best part is, mothers, older sisters and sexually experienced friends generally don't mention them.  Most vaginas learn about these infections from the doctor diagnosing them.

3.  To get my yearly prescription of birth control pills, I have to undergo an Annual Exam.  First I have to strip naked in the cold office, and then I have to cover myself with a paper vest and paper sheet.  I'm not sure why.  The paper retains no warmth, and whatever modesty it claims to have goes out the window moments later.  Next, I sit on the table, reading my book and waiting, because doctors always make you wait when you're cold and wearing undignified paper.  The doctor finally comes in, realizes I'm reading Gertrude Stein, and raves about her works, because of course gynecologists love Gertrude Stein.  Finally, the poking and prodding begin.  Between the air conditioning in the office and the doctor's icy hands, my nipples instantly harden during the breast exam, and all I can do is lie back and think, "What a waste."  I prefer my nipples to be hard in fun situations.  Then comes the speculum, with another waste.  All that KY, for a circumstance that isn't even remotely enjoyable.  The doctor opens me up, wiggles it around to find my cervix, and scrapes off some cells.  Relief floods over me when the speculum comes out, but it isn't over yet.  The doctor lubes up her latex glove and says, "I'm going to insert two fingers and press on your belly, so I can feel your uterus."  Thus, I am subjected to pressure from above, and fingered by a stranger.  Besides the waiting in paper clothes part, the whole process doesn't take long.  The doctor removes her gloves, washes her hands and tells me I can get dressed.  When all that intrusion is over, I don't even get cab fare... instead, the receptionist asks for my copay.


On a side note, today's panties are polka-dotted.  Please excuse the quality of the selfie; Henry's schedule precluded his photography today.