I broke new ground with my OB/GYN the other day. He's been my doctor for 16 years. Delivered both my babies. We're kinda intimate, ya know?
But during a routine visit a few days ago, we explored a new frontier in our doctor/patient relationship...one not yet (or hopefully ever to be) explored with my husband.
Now, let me just say, my doctor is only a few years older than me and he is CUTE. I was not beyond crushing on him big time during my pregnancies and I looked forward to my monthly visits with him with...perhaps...a bit too much enthusiasm.
But that was THEN (i.e. before babies when I had a sex drive) and this is NOW (i.e. after babies when...well...I could give a fuck (no pun intended).
Anyway...to breaking new ground...
And let me just say...before you read on...that everything of which I speak was on a totally professional level. No inappropriate moves were made and if I were less little house on the prairie about this sort of thing, I might not have even thought it was strange... a natural evolution between a girl and her doctor perhaps...but...
...yesterday, during my appointment...my OB/GYN and I got to talking about my vagina and I asked if it was dying. (remember this post?)
He said no. I had a perfectly, healthy vagina.
And after experiencing a brief moment of
...he asked me to...
JOIN HIM IN LOOKING AT MY VAGINA IN THE MIRROR.
(taking a breath...)
Okay, I admit, there have been a few times in my life when I sneaked a peek at the ol' lady garden...but it was usually after a bath and always in private. When I was young I looked because I was curious what all the commotion was about. Later, when I knew and no longer cared, I only looked for practical reasons. Of course, there was that
But here I was...different mirror...same man... same vagina. And if it wasn't embarrassing enough watching him poke around my nether region, I was soon to become full-blown humiliated as I listened to him talk and watched his finger in the mirror... in horror... as it slowly, casually passed over, time and time again...
... an inch-long piece of toilet paper glued to my inner sanctum.
Look here, he said, totally disregarding what I could not take my eyes off of.
See this? he asked, pointing to something NOT the thing that looked like surgical tape stuck to my formerly pretty, pink privates.
Oh, I saw it all right.
It was like 7th grade health class but instead of the class snickering while the teacher pointed his stick at some overhead projection of some generic diagram, they were snickering while the teacher pointed his stick AT ME...and the CHARMIN ULTRA stuck to my hoo ha.
I was a living, breathing, adolescent anxiety dream.
I made light of it, as I always do when I'm uncomfortable. I cracked jokes. But my doc didn't care about the toilet paper (I guess I wasn't his first). He was trying to teach me something and since I've always prided myself on being a good student, I tried to listen.
But SHIT. Who was I kidding?
I mean COME ON!
So, after yesterday, I'm pretty sure it will be a while before I explore my lovely, feminine field again.
Until then, hubby, it's all yours!
*photo courtesy of google images