A Love Letter To My New Gynecologist Who Is THE BEST
Dear my new gynecologist who is THE BEST,
I never thought this could happen to me. I never thought I'd be one of those women who so enjoyed her strip-and-spread-'em annual exam that I'd actually feel sad about waiting a whole year to see you again. I've been hurt before, you see. My last gynecologist was THE WORST, and even if she had not retired this year, I'd rather stab myself repeatedly with a cold speculum than ever see her again.
But with you, it was different. I knew right away. Unlike most health care professionals -- and, heck, most people in general -- your nurse did not assume and bungle the pronunciation of my name; she actually asked. So thoughtful!
While I sat on the couch and waited to see you, I flipped through the binder of dirty sex jokes and cartoons on your coffee table. So much better than reading a five-year-old People magazine.
When I met you in your exam room, I liked everything about you: the way you introduced yourself by your first name, the way you smiled so comfortingly at me, your sensible-but-stylish outfit.
We sat and talked a bit and got to know each other before you even laid a finger on me. I told you how I'd been hurt before, and you agreed that my prior gyno was indeed THE WORST. You asked me about my sexual activity (none, for now, I'm committedly single and celibate) and whether, when I do have sex, it is with with men or women, because you know that sometimes ladies have sex with other ladies, and you are not judgmental about that at all.
When I climbed onto your exam table, you rubbed your hands together to make them warm before checking for breast lumps. You asked me what I do, and I told you that I write snark about politics, and you said to me, "I like snark." Of course you do, my new gynecologist who is the best.
“What have you written about lately?” you asked as you maneuvered me onto my back and spread my legs open so gently that I hardly even noticed. I told you that I’d been writing about the Supreme Court’s sucktastic Hobby Lobby decision, and even your groan of disgust sounded as sorrowfully sweet as an Adele song.
“I am so angry,” you said as you inserted the speculum into my vagina so expertly that I barely felt it.
“Me too,” I said. “I can’t believe restricting birth control because you think it’s abortion is now a constitutionally protected right.”
“Who cares if it is abortion?” you said. “It’s been legal since 1972! You’re allowed to kill a fetus.” Of course you were right, but in these horrible times, when we so often try to come up with silly euphemisms to talk about abortion for fear of offending people who will be offended no matter what, it was so refreshing to hear you say it so plainly. You’re allowed to kill a fetus. It’s the law. Duh.
It was such a special moment, my new gynecologist who is THE BEST. There we were, your gloved fingers inside me as we agreed that the entire Hobby Lobby argument is absurd since a) birth control is not abortion, and b) even if it is, so what, THAT IS LEGAL!, and you murmured “fuck that” and proceeded to condemn, with the beauty of a Shakespeare sonnet except actually beautiful, those same people who think it should also be legal to discriminate against gay people for being gay.
“Fuck that too,” you said, and that, I think, was the moment I knew I was in love.
After you finished examining my down-there, I asked you to change my NuvaRing prescription from a four-week cycle to a three-week cycle to better regulate my period, and you said, “Of course. You know how your body works.” Oh, my new gynecologist who is THE BEST, how sweet the sound of someone who trusts me and wants to provide me with the care I need for my body, after the non-stop barrage of judges and politicians and generally stupid people telling me I am too dumb to understand and make decisions for myself.
And then it was over. You left me to change back into my clothes, and then you shook my hand and told me what a pleasure it was to meet me, that purple is a great color on me, and that I seem like “a pretty cool chick.” I think I may have blushed a little.
It was one of the best medical experiences of my life. And given the intimacy of our encounter, and the sweet words you spoke, it could easily qualify as one of the best dates of my life too.
Thank you, my new gynecologist who is THE BEST, for being so kind and gentle and funny and smart and for trusting me and taking such good care of me and restoring my faith in medicine and making me feel so comfortable even during an experience that is typically so not comfortable because you are THE BEST. And I really liked your jewelry too.
Yours forever and ever and ever,