**UPDATED 11-20-07 - If you're a damn pervert looking for porn, look elsewhere you sick bastard. Thank you.**
The story that started this whole gynecological fest was about my old doctor, Dr. H. I thought it was only fair that I talk about him again.
When I got pregnant, it was a … surprise. I was at a time in my life where I was just starting to live a responsible life - working, taking care of a family. But I had yet to get myself on a regular schedule with my physical exams. And yes…even my gynecologist visit. I still went every year, it was just randomly done in response to my mom’s nagging. Usually because she wanted me to make appointments for both of us. So we could go together! (So, you’re starting to see how this whole experience has been for me, right?)
That led to me calling every professional clinic in the area of a certain suburb asking if they had a female doctor named Chris. Because that’s all I knew about ‘my‘ doctor.
So, back to me getting pregnant. I thought it was time I started seeing, you know, ONE doctor. Maybe learn his name, get to know him a bit. So I looked at the pictures on the internet and whittled down my selections.
“She looks like a beeee-otch!” (She did, like the bad lady in Austin Powers!)
“He looks too old.”
“Hey, Dr. H, huh? He looks like a nice guy. Good looking, but still too old for me. That’s my doctor.”
Turns out, that is NOT the best way to pick your doctor. Hmph.
Dr. H was a nice guy. And he was good looking but too old for me. But he was also very timid when it came to talking about my lady parts. I would like that in a regular guy, but not my gynecologist. After all, it IS his job.
When he did my b*reast exam, if I looked down, he looked away.
He stammered and blushed any time he had to say ‘b*reast’ or ‘v*agina.’ And, of course, anything associated with the br*east or v*agina.
And I mentioned before how chronically late he was, but just to document it again: Standard hour wait in the waiting room and half hour wait in the exam room. An hour and a half. Of just waiting.
But all these flaws were just minor things. Crap, it’s not like I’m marrying the guy, right? He’s just gotta keep an eye on my goods for almost a year.
That all changed the day he called me fat.
I must have been eight months along. I knew I was putting on weight. I may not have understood the way calories worked exactly, but I knew eating brownies, marshmallows and chocolate syrup on chocolate ice cream from Cold Stone Creamery wasn’t exactly keeping me slim. But, HELLO? I was PREGNANT! That’s what my family said! “Honey! You’re NOT fat - you’re PREGNANT!”
Yet here this man, who asked me about my sexual partners in a ‘round about way’ was flat out telling me, “You’re gaining weight too fast, you need to watch what you eat and start walking more.”
“Well, I TRY to walk, but it’s been a hundred degrees outside! That can’t be good for the baby!” I pleaded. How the hell could he be telling me to this??
“Then try walking at night.”
“At NIGHT? That’s not safe!”
“Sure it is.” He said smugly.
“Where do you live? Edina??? Because where I live, it is NOT safe for a hugely pregnant woman to go walking by herself late at night!” And it wasn’t.
I went home that night more pissed than I ever had been at a doctor. I had doctors tell me I was overweight before. (I lived with my grandparents for a while when I was younger. They liked to feed me.) But I had never had one do it with so much arrogance.
I kept him on as my obstetrician until the end of my pregnancy with my 6 week exam. But ONLY because I loved his nurse and she knew a lot about me.
But after the boob incident, that sucker was outta there.
VirtualSprite said of male ob/gyns, “My feeling, if you don't have the parts, you don't have an opinion.”
And I couldn’t agree more. My new doctor is a woman.
**Don't forget to throw your link in the post up top and then head over to Brillig's place to read hers and add your link there, too!**