Holy Speculum, Batman!

I don't know how to warn you any better than to say, "I went to the gynecologist today."


Be scared. Be very scared. You KNOW I can't go do something like that without putting into a blog. How can I skip writing about all the stories that go with having that yearly exam? Since the doctor talked about poop, too, I was in heaven...

Men, stop being squeamish! Get over it. You wouldn't lke it if someone stuck a big, cold metal thing up your parts and then cranked it open for a Grand Canyon view of your innards. 

Here is a picture of some man holding a speculum. Figures some man would be holding it. He probably invented it AND the mammogram. Say "ahhh!"
I have a lot of gyne stories, none of which will make it in to this particular blog. I'll save them for a rainy day. 

Today, I speak of the colon as related to the gynecologist. You know what they say: the difference between a gynecologist and a proctologist is....about two inches. Tee hee!

Why, by the way, does anyone want to become a gynecologist or a proctologist? Who wants to look at that all day? We don't even want to get into the whole olfactory portion of the job...

So, there I was, freezing and all naked (well, besides that excuse of a paper gown thing, which is just another part of this event), waiting on the table with the scary leg doohickeys--stirrups--I'm not riding no stinkin' horse, so I wish they didn't call them stirrups. I know why they leave you sitting on the table freezing for so long--they are killing germs and airing out stinky parts. 

You freeze and then they come in.

My doctor is a gem. She is a woman of few words and of fewer moments "down there." NO time wasted--it's efficiency times two. Thank god. I don't want to make small talk when someone is scraping my cervix.

So, she's squeezing the boobs and talking about healthy things like exercising and proper diet and calcium with Vitamin D, when suddenly the topic of constipation comes up (not brought up by me, by the way). I admitted to a tendency of constipation (hence, all the poop talk--if you can't poop, you might as well talk about poop). She's talking about fiber and water....when she GRABS my colon. No kidding. Right from the outside of my skin. She grabs that sucker and assures me that most women are constipated. She's PUSHING on my colon and telling me that my colon seems mighty full. No shit, Sherlock--I just told you I am constipated. My poop went screaming back into my small intestines, never to be seen again.

Once I was able to peel myself off the ceiling, I was able to vocalize a few squeaks about having a colonoscopy. (Hey, I haven't blogged about that procedure..more fodder for the future!) She is impressed that I have had a colonoscopy and gives me the good news that I will thus not need a poop shoot exam. Now THERE'S some good news! Even I want to skip that part of an exam. Even tho my poop has been ASSURED there will not be a poop shoot exam, my poop is still hiding under my liver.

And so, I slid myself off the table (literally and figuratively--you know they lube you up enough to slide an elephant in there) and went on with life. I'm happy to report my plumbing is in excellent condition. Life IS good....