Is it just me, or do you also secretly hope that your gynaecologist is going to be a lovely, tender old woman?
My ideal gynaecologist would look and act exactly like Mother Teresa with old nurturing eyes that have seen thousands of vaginas. I was very anxious as I waited to be called into the gynecologist’s office following an abnormal pap-smear.
My lovely friend had accompanied me to the waiting room for support, understanding just how shit-scared I was. Not just about the check-up, but about the experience itself. When my name was called, I died a thousand deaths.
He was in his mid-forties, tall and rugged, with a strong jaw-line and a low gravelly voice.
“Sharni Montgomery,” he uttered as if taking to the stage at a jazz bar.
I looked at my friend, deeply pained.
“You’ll be right,” she said with a reassuring rub on the back.
She knew I wasn’t going to be. This was the stuff my nightmares were made of. Had I been in a restaurant, that dish would have been returned.
“I ordered Mother Teresa!”
With flushed cheeks and a knot in my stomach, I entered his office. He greeted me quickly, gazed over some notes before routinely instructing, “I’ll leave the room now, please just take off your underwear and sit on the chair.”
As the door closed my mind entered what I can only describe as a chaotic state of panic.
“Take my pants down… right, take my pants down… where did he say I have to sit? Oh shit, I don’t know where he said I have to sit! Oh quick he’ll be back in a minute, just hurry up!” My basic instincts said the operating chair, but I second-guessed them.
As I slid down my pants and my underwear I felt instant regret for wearing a cropped jumper.
“He must have meant that chair,” I thought, my mind racing at one million miles per hour. “Where do I even PUT my undies?”
Oh, the questions!
I popped my undies and pants up on the desk and sat myself on the leather chair. My panic attack was at fever pitch. I wasn’t prepared for the look on his face as he re-entered the room.
There I was, butt naked, sitting on some kind of leather director’s chair in the gyno’s office. It was at this moment that the truth dawned on me: “I’m meant to be on the chair up there!!!! The one with the stirrups!! YOU IDIOT!”
I felt like I should have breathed a sultry “Well hello there” before puffing on a cigar. HOLY SHIT, I was having a Sharon Stone moment at the handsome gyno’s office!
I could see that he was embarrassed, but trying not to make me more embarrassed said: “No – that chair over there,” pointing to the chair where you are supposed to pantlessly sit.
It was at this mortifying moment, I performed my next trick, peeling my bottom from the leather chair and executing a very awkward bum run to the other side of the office. The operating chair like a mirage in the distance!
I tugged at my cropped jumper. It had buckley’s of covering my jiggly white bum.
The gyno was now coughing and spluttering in a polite attempt to divert from the live streaking action.
There was no need for that dashing gyno to leave the room to give me privacy. The damage had been done. I can’t remember what happened next. It’s all a bit of a blur. The checkup itself was fine, but my dignity… oh my dignity. I’m sure I left it on his desk in the pile with my undies and my pants.
Watch Sharon Stone in the iconic Basic Instinct leg-crossing interrogation scene.
Have you ever been mortified at the Gyno?
Sharni Montgomery is a writer who loves to find the story in the everyday. Her superpower is humour. She once worked and partied hard in the media world in Sydney. These days she kicks back with her crossfit partner, two kids and two retired sheep dogs in the Riverina, NSW. You can follow her Facebook page and her blog.