Anatomy of the Pelvic Exam.
You arrive on time. You’re grumpy.
You sign in, and sit down in the waiting room. If it’s your general practitioner’s office; there is always some old person hacking up a lung next to you, or some kid with a runny nose pawing every single outdated magazine he can get his grubby little hands on. If it’s your ob/gyn office; there are two other women there, one is so pregnant she looks like she’s going to pop, and the other one is glaring at her. You fill out a page or two, and then read your magazine. You wait.
Promptly (after about 40 minutes), an exhausted looking nurse in scrubs pokes her head out from the doorway and calls your name. You are led into the back, where you are put into a tiny exam room, and handed an over-washed blanket with frayed edges and a paper device, which you discover is a small vest that serves no purpose. You undress completely, tug on the paper vest, which does nothing to cover your breasts unless you hold the sides there. The linoleum is cold and sticky—you put your socks back on. You are told to sit on the table—so you do, annoyed by the paper sticking to your butt. You drape yourself with the blanket… You wait.
The nurse comes back in, leaving the door wide open long enough for everyone at the records desk to see you sitting there in your paper vest and your blanket, your socked feet poking out from beneath. Dignity is everything here. The nurse puts the blood-pressure sleeve on your arm, and nearly severs your limb off she pumps it up so high. She asks you to stand on the scale, impatiently waiting for you to somehow cover yourself with the blanket. All necessary data acquired, she swoops out again, making sure the door is nice and wide open so that the patients walking by on their way out get a really good look as you try, bare-assed, to get back onto the table and to sit on the crinkly paper… You wait.
After what seems to be an eternity; and you’ve pretty much memorized the drug-company advertisements on the walls, and you’ve swabbed your ears with a couple of the huge q-tips they have there, the doctor bursts in, clipboard in hand. Never once, do they make eye contact with you, they ask questions, scribble, and then start the mechanical process of turning the innocuous examination table to an instrument of torture. The stirrups are raised, the giant spotlight is turned on, and you are told to lie back… and get this… relax. You feel your legs being lifted and your heels being jammed into the stirrups. The rolling stool is pulled up, the doctor then has a tray of items brought in from the commercial freezer they keep in the back, and the spotlight is shone directly on your badge of womanhood.
Mask on, the doctor ratchets up the vagina-jack. The moment you feel the cold metal on your personal property, you stiffen. After being told to relax again, and you feel like the edge of each duckbill must be sharpened by Ginzu. The doctor’s hand then reaches up, and uses the ancient martial arts move called the ‘touch of immense discomfort’ which they are trained extensively to use at medical school by ninja masters. They poke your belly a few times, and you stiffen, express your annoyance as politely as possible which they promptly dismiss with a mumble. They then reach for the implements they need to tinker around inside you like a mechanic. One quick finger up the anus, and voila. They’re done… some scribbling, with your hoohoo in the spotlight, you lay there and wonder… you wait.
The doctor then turns off the light, and you are allowed to lower your legs, and they promptly advance on you with hands akimbo. Some painful pokings and squeezings and gropings of your breasts, and there is further scribbling. With a slight whoosh of air, you find yourself suddenly alone… the door slowly closing, a tiny south-American woman pushing a laundry cart smiles at you as she walks by. You feel like you should have at least been bought a dinner somewhere nice… You wait.
The nurse comes back in and tells you to put your clothes back on. You may go, she says. She gives you a raggedy looking towelette to remove the KY from your nether regions. You dress quickly, and escape. Good times were had all around.
- Location: Dr. Evil
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests