I lucked out when my finger landed on her name as the meeny to my miney-mo from a list of network providers. Her name is Patricia Mooney-Smith at Heartland Women's Clinic in the NKC Pavillion.
During our first meeting, she glided into my room and the energy around her immediately changed. Her eyes lit up when she spoke. And she she listened - REALLY listened and became increasingly and genuinely excited as I explained to her why I was there. I have convinced myself that it was my circumstance and not the exam she was about to perform that aroused her so.
Once on the gurney with my feet placed stragically aligned to the Betty Boop foot straps - all spread eagle and talking about the warm weather that day like it was the most natural thing to do in front of a total stranger - she exclaimed, "You have a magnificent uterus!". Wow. I may not have fame or fortune in my life, but I have a MAGNIFICENT uterus. It's something I suppose.
Once back in my street clothes and ironically feeling more exposed than ever, she reported all the clinical things to which she is required and gave me orders for testing and explained what each one was for. She then reached over and touched my my hand with pause. "I want to ask you to hang with me for the next three months. We will figure this out together and I want to head into this with all the ammunition I have. Will you hang with me?".
She is also magnificent.
Talk about "GEEZ!" - I enjoyed my first visit to a real gynecologist earlier this month.
"HOW?", you might ask, has anyone of the female gender gone through 36 years of life avoiding this right of passage into womanhood? "Complete laziness, avoidance....and ignorance", I might answer.
I grew up an only child to a single mom. She remarried when I was in the 4th grade where I started a new school at Westview Elementary. Very nervous in my new surroundings, I sat in Mrs Coleman's class, trying to translate her German accent into some kind of sense, when I felt dizzy and an overwhelming desire to barf up my enchilada surprise and apple crisp from just a few hours before. I was granted the coveted bathroom pass. Once there, I nearly passed out in terror. I was surely dying! Blood - so much blood!
Eventually, my secret was somehow found out and my mother gave me a Kotex pad the size of a mattress to wear. There was no sex talk - only the assurance that I was not on my death bed and that I would live with this strange condition monthly for the next 60 years. Awesome.
Once I made friends and finally moved on to middle school, getting your period suddenly became as cool as getting braces. Everybody wanted theirs and I was the one clueless about it! My introduction to tampons occurred, like so many firsts do, in the girls' restroom at Lewis Middle School from the bossy girl who knew it ALL. She handed me a harpoon and told me I was truly about to be a woman since using one would cause me to lose my virginity. I was pretty sure I didn't own a virgin so was unfazed by her threats. I fumbled around without instructions, took the contraption completely apart placing it sideways inside myself lengthwise for the best fit. Perfect.
My mother divorced again after a few years trapped in a horrible marriage when I was in the 8th grade. We moved from luxury into the ghetto and I began to put all my energy into trying to be popular, making myself as skinny as humanly possible by any means available, and delving into any after school sport that would have me in order to avoid going back to an empty apartment. I met my first 'real' boyfriend. That summer, I found out what my virginity was and sure enough, lost it. Brilliant.
I started having such pain in the middle of my cycle, then cramped so bad I had to miss my beloved activities. My mother feared something was wrong and took me to our family doctor. I had no idea what a pelvic exam was or what to expect. After that initiation into humiliation, we were told it was all in my head and he gave me some pills that I could take to knock me out of my misery at will. No interview about my personal life or guesses as to any underlying issues that we may need to address. Just normal teenage angst I suppose.
To make a long story - and well, to end YOUR misery - this is why I avoid the inevitable gyno visit. So much trouble, this female reproductive system. So many unanswered questions and so much mystery that still goes unanswered for me. So begins the end of my ignorance...PERIOD!
