Scared of the Stirrups: A Few Reasons Why Women Dread Going to the Gynecologist

Disclaimer: In hopes of preventing misguided traffic from scrolling through this story, I will refer to the sacred female body part as a "wahoo," a term once used in a book I read and one that happens to make me laugh.

So, let's get to it.

It was during the first appointment that I developed a deep, sincere hate for the wahoo doctor. I already didn't want to be there and she just so happened to rub me the wrong way (excuse the pun). Future appointments weren't any better.

She came in my room, told me to undress and that everything had to come off. My first thought? I seriously have to take my socks off for this exam to go smoothly? What is she planning on doing to me? Regardless, I did what I was told. I put the gown on, tied it in the back and climbed back onto the table.

As I waited for her to return I had the pleasure of reading pamphlets about menstrual cycles, birth control, and other other wahoo-related things. My favorite piece of art, though, was the half naked, half organ-exposed woman plastered on the wall to my left. The poster advised women to ask questions about menopause and described all of the changes a woman's body goes through during the process. Tiny arrows pointed to the breast, the wahoo, the skin and hair - all things I get to look forward to when I get older. Wonderful.

I hear a knock on the door and before I can answer it swings open. Rude. I pull my legs together as if I could make them any closer than they already were. She asked if I undressed and if I was ready to begin the exam. Does that mean this is an option? Does you asking me if I am ready mean I can opt out if I so choose? Negative ghost rider.

She sat down on the swivel chair and rolled right up next to the table - at this point her head was at the same level as my feet. Oh god.

"I need you to scoot your butt back on the table and and put your feet in the stirrups," she said.

Stirrups? I'm not having a baby. Can't you just look from afar and tell me I'm good to go? Hardly.

Again, I do as she asks and I assume the position. But, to my surprise, just as I think I'm about to pee my pants (or not, since I was told to remove them), she stands up from the swivel chair and moves to the head of the table.

"I'm just going to check your breasts," she said.

You are going to do what? I think I just got scared.

Then another surprise - my right breast is completely exposed before I know it and she begins the most uncomfortable massage I've ever gotten. The catch? She doesn't even look at it. If you felt so inclined as to expose my girls, the least you could do is take a peak to make sure they are still there and you didn't just scare them back into my prepubescent years.

When she moved to the left side I got a little taste of terrible bedside manner. You see, between the last appointment and this one I had gotten a breast cancer tattoo below my left breast in honor of my grandmother who was a survivor, but had since passed away. The tattoo was a ribbon that spelled the word "hope" and the "e" was the actual, pink, breast cancer ribbon. All of the proceeds went to breast cancer research. I explained this to them and the nurse said she loved it. The wahoo doctor looked at it and apparently needed to clarify something.

"So you got a tattoo to help breast cancer research when tattoos can give you breast caner?"

The exam room got so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop. Excuse me, but I thought I walked into the wahoo office not the church. My deep, sincere hate just got kicked up a few notches.

I simply responded, "I'm not going to get cancer, but to answer your questions, yes, I did get a tattoo to help breast cancer research." Of course I had a few other choice words I would have much rather said.

When she finished the judgmental breast-check she returned to the front row seating of the wahoo.

This is the part that gets to me. The look. Now, this must be hard for the wahoo doctor's to master because I'm sure they have seen a number of interesting looking wahoos in their day; however, the look is very important. The look says a lot and if the doctors aren't careful it can send the wrong message to us women.

In my opinion, it's best to get some kind of look. No look can mean they are trying to hide a look, but an intense look can't be good either. Some doctors do the head nod - that can mean a few things. Other's do the wide-eye... that is never a good sign. But those doctors that just get down there and stare blankly, not a single look crosses their face, that's just not cool. You are a wahoo doctor, not a poker player. If you want to keep secrets, take it to the poker table because women don't need any more anxiety than already having to visit the wahoo office.

The look says it all. The look is important. Personally, I think there should be a class in medical wahoo school all about the look and which ones are appropriate to let patients see and which are not. Some doctors just don't have what it takes to specialize in wahoos and that's just something people need to accept. If you don't pass the look exam, you can't look at wahoos for a living - it will freak women out. Trust us.

The next part has to be one of the most annoying things women are forced to hear during the wahoo appointment.

"Relax."

Seriously? Relax? You want me to relax? With the tools you use, the pressure you have to exert, and the movements you have to make, you want me to relax? Can't these wahoo doctor's come up with another word and leave 'relax' to the yoga instructors? I don't feel like that word belongs anywhere near a wahoo office, especially not this woman's office.

After one too many appointments with this particular wahoo doctor, that included other snide remarks and judgmental tendencies, I finally decided enough was enough. I switched to a new woman, whom I am quite happy with. She is nice, she is respectful and most importantly, she does her job and that's it.

I will leave you with this: I don't believe women will ever be excited to go to the wahoo doctor but you absolutely should not have to dread it. Finding a wahoo doctor you are comfortable with can save you a lot of stress, anxiety and thoughts about whether or not you should be confessing the sin of honoring a late relative with a breast cancer tattoo.

If you have had any less than appealing encounters with a wahoo doctor and feel inclined to share them with us, please do so in the comments below. We women need to stick together and speaking out about our horrifying experiences is the first step in teaching wahoo doctor's what's up.