pap smear anyone??

my annual visit to my doctor pretty much follows the same format every year, but the pap smear gets me every time.

first the nurse takes my weight, temperature and blood pressure (squeezing the shit out of my arm), then i have to wait the 20 or so minutes for dr. smith to arrive from seeing his other gazillion hmo patients. i don't mind, though, cause it means that if i schedule my appointment just right, preferrably in the afternoon, i don't have to take my black ass back to work.

so i'm sitting on the hard brown patient's table, reading ladies' home journal and killing time. dr. smith, i must say, is a good doctor, as i've had him since i was a child. but two things about him drive me nuts: his ability to carry a long-winded conversation (hence, the reason i had been kept waiting) and his crossed eyes. yes, my doctor has a lazy eye that doesn't allow him to look directly at me...at least his left eye won't. how does he read charts, you ask? very carefully, from what i can tell.

suddenly, the door swings wide open, and dr. smith is here in all his white-coat glory. "hi, ya doing, miss brains?" he greets in a booming voice. oh, and i also must tell you he is white. but he's okay as far as i can tell, considering i really only see him twice a year if i'm lucky.

"ok, dr. smith," i say, cause he's holding the chart. i really don't know how i'm doing till he reads the results.

blah, blah, blah...i can afford to loose a little weight...blah, blah, blah...cholesterol and blood pressure seems fine....just about everything he said last year.

now he's checking my breasts, which for me always sends me into fits of giggles. i'm sorry, it tickles. i only wish it was a woman giving me this exam, cause it still seems a little funny to have a male doctor touching my breasts.

then it's down to business...the pap smear.

the shit i hate.

first i have strip down to nothing, and put on this paper gown, that ain't made for a woman of my size. i feel like i'm about to bust out of this thing, literally, with my heaving breasts pushed against the paper. dr. smith comes back into the room with his trusty nurse, which i feel good about since i don't want to be left alone with my 55-year-old doc looking at my punanny.

schooching my butt as far as i can get it on the thin paper covering the table, i stretch my legs and put them into the stirrups. i hold my breath and wait for the metal to reach the entrance to my honeypot.

i can hear the metal clicking. then he slowly enters wit the speculum, and i'm breathing in and out.

"try to relax," dr. smith always says. "it it's gonna hurt if you tense up."

fuck you, dr. smith. you try to relax with a cold metal object being forced into your private area. let's try sticking it up your ass and see how you feel.

now i've had sex before, with women and men, but this feels nothing like that. it's a travesty. it figures only a man could think up a procedure like this, just like it was a man who created of pantyhose and the thong.

but it's not over yet folks. he's scraping my insides like he's panning for gold. i'm slowly trying to breath normally, but it feels like forever until he takes the speculum out.

then dr. smith pats my leg when it's all over. "see, that wasn't so bad?" he says, expecting me to say something like, "oh yeah, doc, do it again."

i just simply rise up from the table thinking, "see you next year. if i don't meet your ass in the street first."