Anatomy of a Single Girl (15 page)

“Oh.”

“Is that all right with you, Ms. Baylor?”

“Well … there’s no one else who can see me?”

“Sorry, not at this time. Would you rather pass?”

“Um …”

Normally I look forward to going to the doctor’s because it’s an up close glimpse into what’s in store for me later. But pelvic exams are way more invasive than the typical checkup, so having a male physician will make me especially self-conscious. It’d be stupid to chicken out when this may be my only shot to get an appointment, though, so I answer that I’ll be there. And the fact is, XX or XY, an MD is an MD, which I keep repeating to myself in the clinic waiting room that afternoon as I shakily fill out the intake paperwork. My anxiety promptly turns into annoyance when I reach the part that asks for my marital status. Last year at my gynecologist’s I contemplated inserting the word “mentally” before “married” and checking that. It seemed ludicrous to check “single” when the very reason I was even getting a pelvic exam was because I was
not
single. Now I want to insert “mentally” before “divorced” and draw in an entirely new box for “summer romance.” If I had my own medical practice, I’d have boxes for every possible state, because whichever one you’re in can impact your health as much as anything else.

I check the “single” box and complete the rest of the pages, by which time my skin’s coated with nervous sweat. At least the physician assistant’s a woman.

“Hello. I’m Rosemary,” she says while leading me down the hall.

“Hi. I’m Dominique,” I say stupidly as if she hadn’t just called my name.

First she points me to the bathroom and hands me a cleansing wipe and plastic container for a urine sample. When I come back out, she shows me to the exam room, where she takes my temperature, weight, and blood pressure. Then she says she’ll give me a few minutes alone to undress. After she leaves, I strip except for my socks and put on the disposable gown she left me. It’s really just a sleeveless robe with the texture of paper towels, and the armholes are so big you can see the sides of my boobs.

“Your pregnancy test came back negative,” Rosemary announces upon returning. “And I see from your paperwork that the reason you’re here is because you want things to stay that way.”

“Yeah.” I force a giggle. “I’d like a backup birth control to use with condoms. And also I need to get tested for HIV and everything. I’m okay, but just to be sure.”

“That’s fine. And results are available in two days.”

“Great!” My heart hammers. Friday will be the night!

“Just a few questions. Have you had any major illnesses or surgeries in the past?”

“No. Just my wisdom teeth out when I was fifteen.”

“Do you take any medication?”

“Only vitamins.”

“Okay. When was your last menstrual period?”

“Sunday. It ended today.”

“And your cycle’s regular?”

“Pretty much. Earlier this year it got thrown off for a couple months when I was really stressed out, but now it’s back to every three and a half to four weeks.”

“Any spotting between periods?”

“Almost never. Usually just, you know, clear stuff.”

“And you already had the human papillomavirus vaccines?

“Yes. Four years ago.”

“That was a healthy choice. It protects you from most types of cervical cancers and genital warts.” She looks at my paperwork again. “And from what you wrote here, your last trip to the gynecologist was fourteen months ago?”

“Yes, that’s the only other time I’ve been. My doctor said I wouldn’t need to go again this year as long as I felt okay and there were no major changes, but I want tests and a prescription now.”

“Are you sexually active?”

“Um, yeah. That’s why I began going to the gynecologist’s. I know you’re supposed to get examined when … all of that starts happening.” Admitting that I’ve gone all the way doesn’t feel as strange as it did during my first appointment. But it’s still bizarre knowing that my non-virginity is part of my medical record, like it’s official.

“And do you use protection?”

“Yes. Well … I always used condoms for, you know, normal sex. Not that other kinds aren’t normal. It’s just—”

I blush, recalling Saturday night in Guy’s room. I’m usually so cautious, you’d think I would’ve insisted on him using a dental dam, but it didn’t even occur to me until after it was over. Your brain really does turn to mush in the heat of the moment.

“I haven’t always used protection for … oral sex.”

“Just keep in mind you can still contract a variety of sexually transmitted diseases through unprotected oral-genital contact. The same holds true for
outer
course, what we call skin-to-skin genital contact without penetration.”

“I understand.”

It’s time for my blood test, so Rosemary tells me to relax my arm as she ties a tourniquet around the upper part of it and rubs a disinfectant cloth over my inner elbow. She then has me make a fist while she pricks me and draws four vials of blood. Afterward she covers the puncture site with a cotton ball and Band-Aid before taking the vials to the lab, leaving me alone and as tense as ever. I use the time to text Amy, who’s just getting out of work.

Amy:
You’ll be fine. It’s a routine exam.

Dominique:
I know, but I still can’t believe that soon some man I never met will be touching me THERE.

Amy:
I know what you mean. On Friday I’ll be going through airport security again for Joel. Ah, the indignities we suffer to get nookie!

Dominique:
Whatever. I’ll take a patdown over a pap smear any day.

Amy:
Maybe you’ll luck out and your doc will be super old with shaky hands. HAHAHAHA!!!!

I’m typing back “Gross” when the door swings open. Rosemary walks in, along with a man in a white coat, who I presume is my gynecologist. Frantically, I shove my cell back into my purse so they can’t see what we’re writing.

The man holds out his hand to me. “Hello, Dominique. Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Mike Monahan.”

I hold my gown closed tightly as we shake. He’s not old but definitely middle-aged. The fact that he’s probably seen thousands of women’s vaginas by now puts me a little more at ease. I’m glad Rosemary’s here, too. It’s common practice for a female assistant to be present with a male gynocologist. For whatever reason, having a second woman in the room helps defuse the weirdness.

“So …” He sits down on the roller chair and skims my file for a few moments. “You’re thinking about starting the pill to use in conjunction with condoms?”

“Actually, I’d like to start Depo-Provera instead. My schedule can get crazy, and I’d rather just get a shot every three months than have to remember to take a pill at the same time every day.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, and since it’s within five days of the beginning of your period, the Depo will take effect immediately. However, we still recommend for the first week that you use another form of protection with it. So as long as you use the condoms during that time, there will be very little chance of getting pregnant.”

I nod, impressed by how relaxed Dr. Monahan makes me, despite that we’re discussing my sex life.

Now he stands up and pulls on a pair of latex gloves. “Let’s just make sure everything is okay with your health. We’ll start with the breast exam. You can lie back when you’re ready.”

A moment later I’m reclining while Dr. Monahan’s standing next to me by the head of the table. He narrates
everything he’s going to do before lifting up one side of my gown and doing a visual inspection of my exposed breast to make sure there’s no puckering or dimpling of the skin. Next he places his hand on my breast and presses it in a circular motion to check for lumps. Then he squeezes my nipple to see if there’s discharge. Finally he pulls the gown back over my breast and repeats everything on my other side. Nothing he does hurts, and amazingly I don’t feel embarrassed. That may be because he’s doing a good job of distracting me with questions about college.

“You’re premed? Good for you! Any idea of which med school you’d want to go to?”

“My dream would be Stanford, but I’m trying not to think about all that right now. I just want to get through organic chem next year.”

“I wouldn’t be concerned. The biggest hurdle is surviving the first year, which you’ve already done.”

The breast exam’s over in twenty seconds, and Dr. Monahan says that everything seems normal. Afterward he sits back on his stool and rolls to the far side of the table. Meanwhile Rosemary drapes over my legs a blanket that’s made from the same disposable material as my gown.

“Now,” he continues, “I need you to move down all the way to the end of the table and place both feet in the footrests.”

I inhale and do as he says, careful to keep my knees closed and the blanket shielding everything from their view for as long as possible.

“All right, Dominique. Next is the external exam. First I’m going to simply look at your vaginal area in search of
cysts, redness, swelling, and anything else that shouldn’t be there. So whenever you’re ready, I need you to open your legs.”

I draw another long breath and comply. While nothing about this feels natural, it’s a lot less mortifying than I imagined it’d be with him. It helps that Dr. Monahan’s tone remains just as blasé as if he were checking under the hood of a car.

“Everything looks healthy and normal.”

Then he does something that my former doctor did not do—he asks if I’d like for him to hold a mirror between my legs so I can see everything he’s seeing. My curiosity out-gunning my eagerness to go home, I say okay. Rosemary then pulls up the blanket and has me sit up on my elbows to give me a full view of the mirror. As Dr. Monahan proceeds to deliver a mini anatomy lesson, I realize that I’m far less familiar with my own privates than with Guy’s, and I’ve seen his only twice! I guess that’s to be expected, since girls can’t really look at ourselves without a reflection, whereas nothing’s hidden with boys. It seems unfair, but there’s also something neat about it being shrouded in secrecy.

After that Rosemary covers me again, I lie back down, and the doctor picks up a speculum from the instrument stand. The one my last gynecologist used was metal, but this one is clear and plastic. Otherwise they’re identical, having the same shape as a pistol. The cylinder part is divided into two sections, which Dr. Monahan says are called blades, even though they’re not sharp at all. They look more like a duck’s beak.

“As you know, the speculum goes into your vagina so
we can examine your cervix and birth canal. Rosemary has already warmed the blades with water to make inserting it more comfortable for you. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

When he slides the beak part into my vagina, it feels like inserting a tampon applicator, except bigger. Then I hear a clicking noise, which is Dr. Monahan squeezing the handle to spread the blades apart so he can look inside. Since it’s been a while since anything of comparable size has been up there, I already foresaw that this would be a little uncomfortable.

“Does this hurt at all, Dominique?”

“Um, there’s more pressure than anything.”

He must sense I’m edgy, because he tells me, “You’re doing fine. Just try to relax and take some slow, deep breaths.”

I do, which helps a lot.

Then he says, “There’s no discoloration, no inflammation, no polyps. Still healthy and normal. Next is the pap smear.” Dr. Monahan holds up a long cotton swab and says he’s going to insert it into my vagina and brush it against my cervix to get a cell sample. “Any pain?” he asks when he’s done.

“No. I barely felt it.”

“Okay, now I’ll be removing the speculum.… Done.”

I’d be happier about that duck-billed contraption being out of me if it weren’t also time for the bimanual, which to me is the most awkward part of the exam. As Dr. Monahan explains, he’ll be putting his hand where the speculum just was in order to feel around my ovaries and uterus. So I take a final long breath as he then inserts his second and third
fingers into my vagina and presses upward while using his other hand to press downward on my lower belly. It’s painless, but I’m relieved when it’s all over five seconds later.

“You’re okay to go, Dominique,” he says while taking off his gloves. “After Rosemary brings the pap sample to the lab, she’ll be back to give you the Depo-Provera shot and go over possible side effects. Chances are that the only thing you’ll have is some soreness around the injection site. And if there’s a problem with your pap smear, which I don’t foresee, the office will contact you.”

“Great. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Of course. And good luck with organic chem. Just don’t let it intimidate you. That’s half the battle.”

Even though I’d bet my life that my STD tests will come back negative, I’m still uneasy waiting to hear. After work Friday I bike to the clinic, and it’s the biggest weight off my shoulders when Rosemary tells me the good news. I gleefully fold the results into my pocket next to my immunization records, which I ordered earlier this week from my old pediatrician. As I head back outside, I text Amy that I’m fine and wish her a safe flight to Wichita. Finally, I text Guy.

Dominique:
Everything is “taken care of.”

Guy:
Very cool. Got plans tonight?

Dominique:
Yes. Beta house @ 8.

Guy:
:) Let’s do it.

18

I
can’t help feeling disappointed when I get to Guy’s room that evening. I wasn’t expecting him to light candles or scatter rose petals. But I just made myself
infertile
for him, so the least he could’ve done was make the bed. Instead, he tossed some condoms on the rumpled sheets. Suddenly I miss the plush Sanibel hotel where I had my first time after senior prom. Sure, it was silly blowing so much money on a single night, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. Tonight is, too, though. It will be my first time after my first love.

Guy and I hand each other our medical papers to look over. He barely glances at mine before returning them to me.
I read his carefully, and after a minute Guy asks worriedly, “It says I’m disease-free, right?”