What Your Gynecologist Won't Tell You

Maybe I am just naive and most women over the age of fifteen know this secret already, but I couldn't believe my ears when I heard my gynecologist tell me I could just skip my menstrual cycle while I was in Europe.

Excuse me? Why is this the first time I am hearing this information?

To fully understand my surprise and frustration it would be helpful to know the history behind the visit that led me to this astonishing news, as well as my menstrual cycle and the horror it brings with it. Now, I know what you are thinking and don't worry - I am not going to give you in depth details about the less than appealing liquid aspect of my cycle. None of us should have to endure that kind of torture so I will save you the pain and keep it to myself.

Lets start with the history of the little demons mother nature forced upon me as a high schooler and the perfect timing she had that was the cherry on top of it all (sorry - I couldn't resist).

The story began when I was changing into my swim suit to get ready for our family vacation - 8 days on a houseboat on Lake Oroville. Nothing but swim suits, jet skis, water toys and fun in the sun.

"Yeah, right," thought mother nature. "Cue the torture."

She must have been thinking exactly that because as soon as I slipped out of my pants and underthings, I noticed something that would change my life. You guessed it - I started my menstrual cycle the day we were leaving to the land of half naked humans and probably boys. Yep - great timing, mother nature.

I cried. I cried so much. I thought my life was over. All I could think was, not now, not today, this can't be happening. It was the worst possible timing and to the then 14 year old, it meant my life was over.

My mom tried to console me. She assured me my life was not over. She had a solution. And, of course she did - she's mom!

GREAT! Mom's got a solution. We're going to plug this leak up and move on.

Wrong.

Little did I know - young girls my age are encouraged to only use feminine pads. No plugs for me. Well, that is going to look just darling in my swimsuit, now isn't it?

I immediately went back into 'my life is over' mode.

Fast forward a year or two, countless sleepless nights, heating pads and the fetal position and we arrive at "the pill".

Yes, it might come as a surprise to some that not everyone uses birth control to control birth. It is also used to regulate out of control menstrual cycles like the one I was lucky enough to receive. Its almost as if it came bundled up in a little package and, like most packaged deals, you can't just have part of it, you have to take all of it. All of the emotional ups and downs, all of the muscle weakness and cramping, and the multiple days of pain and agony wondering when life will return to the normal state, it's all included in the package. The only foreseeable, long-term solution at the time was birth control.

Those little tiny pills were like pieces of heaven sent down by the gods. Although they didn't take the pain away completely, they turned the 15-17 day horror film into the normal 4-7 day, PG-13 version. That, I could deal with. However, the best was still yet to come.

I was happier than a clam when I found out about Seasonique, a birth control pill pack that regulates your cycle to come 4 times a year. Score! I was on that like white on rice, stink on poop, and any other fitting analogy you can come up with. Now THIS was heaven. With this new prescription I only had to deal with the little ovary demons four times a year instead of twelve. It was still painful during those 4 weeks but it was tolerable.

Fast forward again to this past summer when I was planning the final details and preparing for my life-changing Eurotrip, and you will find me in the Gynecologist's office. The problem: the demons were supposed to be visiting the first week I was in Europe. Considering my track record of pain and agony, that wasn't going to fly.

I asked what my options were and even selflessly offered to sacrifice my week prior to the trip so I didn't have to endure the pain during that first week and that is when I found out the shocking news.

My options were as follows:

1. Move the cycle up a week
2. Or "simply skip the cycle this time around and start your next pill pack early."

Those were the words straight from the horse's mouth. You have got to be kidding me. Since when can we just skip our cycles? I have been dealing with this crap for years and have never been told I can just skip it and not have to deal with it.

She assured me that it was safe and that women do it all the time when things like this come up. It does not harm the body, nor will it affect any normal, birth control-regulated cycle in any way.

I couldn't really tell you if I was happy or upset at this point in time. I was thrilled that I wouldn't have to worry about those little demons while I was traveling but at the same time, I was floored because I had been dealing with the excruciating pain for years and had no idea that I could skip it, even just once.

Why? Why don't the gynecologists share such important information, especially dealing with cases like mine? Is there more money in it for them? Are there really health concerns that come with it that she failed to mention when discussing me skipping the demons for the Eurotrip? Or do all of the doctors, nurses and front desk girls just enjoy the laugh on their coffee breaks when they see these women who can't fight back against those little demons who carry pitchforks and torches and set fire to your insides?

So many unanswered questions but, I am here to share with you this wonderful information:

If you don't feel like dealing with the horror film for a week, if you don't want to face the demons and the pain they inflict on your lady parts, if you just want to go two months or even three without balling yourself up into the fetal position for hours until you fall asleep and are numb to the pain, skip your damn cycle! Why?

BECAUSE YOU CAN!

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.