Could have been worse

WARNING: do not read if you are squeamish, or if you know me and would rather not KNOW me know me, like in the biblical sense.

So, today I had my annual gynocology exam. ((Shudder))

Last year, it hurt so much that I couldn’t stop crying for like an hour afterwards. Plus I had some sort of infection. Since then, I’ve been doing all that reading about the process of trying to conceive, and any time the book would mention speculums (specula? speculae?) I would have a visceral physical reaction and feel myself start to get shaky and teary. Going into my appointment today, I tried all the relaxation techniques I could think of, knowing that being tense would only exacerbate the problem. Didn’t work.

I had to wait a long time, which didn’t help. I am of the school that nausea is way worse than vomiting–the anticipation of something terrible trumps the actual terrible thing. So sitting in an exam room staring at the exam table is pretty much my idea of torture. To top it off, at one point the nurse came in with a tray loaded with clean speculae and proceeded to put them away into the exam table. Seriously, it was like the dungeon master cleaning his various devices in front of his future victims for added effect. So I’m all trying to take deep breaths and visualize sunshine and bunnies, but my hands are shaking and I know it’s just going to suck.

Eventually the nurse practitioner comes in and tells me to undress, and then when everyone is in place she asks me how I’m doing. I tell her I’m shaky and nervous. She tries to calm me down by distracting me with a story, but not before her nurse assistant person, she of the 87 clean specula, is all like, “Honey, it won’t be that bad! You’re making too big a deal out of it!” I should have taken my foot out of the stirrup and kicked her. So she starts the exam, and at first it’s fine, and then I can tell that the speculum is involved and I tense up and my breathing is all shallow and I’m freaking out. I try unsuccessfully to relax, she is quick and incredibly gentle, and it’s over: speculum gone, pain over. She pokes and prods me a little with her hands to try to locate where the pain might be coming from, and it doesn’t hurt at all.

The exam was not nearly as painful as last year, but I still cried afterwards. I just couldn’t stop, even though the exam was totally over and there was no residual pain. She asked if my exams are always that painful, and I told her that this one was not nearly as bad as they have been. She asked if intercourse is painful, and I explained that it’s kind of a nonissue since my partner is female. (At which point she goes, “OH! I remember you. I remember your exam from last year.” Poor thing. It must have been traumatic for her too!)

Then she asks if I’ve ever been raped. HOLY SHIT. It’s at that point that it really hits home that whatever issue I have on the exam table is some sort of psychosomatic issue rather than a physical one. I mean, clearly I kind of knew that before–there were clues–but I guess I never realized to what extent. Like, women complain about going to the gyno, right? I just never realized that my dread of it is different from other women’s.

I love my nurse practitioner. She sat down with me and a box of kleenex, and I told her how scared I was about getting IUIs when we start trying to get me pregnant and how the idea of going through this kind of trauma once a month seemed like my worst nightmare. She recommended that I see  a physical therapist (who knew that hoo-has needed physical therapy? Will it do jumping jacks? Use a hula hoop? Heh: hoo-ha hula hoop) for my pelvic muscles. The PT will evidently give me exercises to do that will make it easier for me to relax. My guess is that the exercises will also take away some of the fear, because they will distract me and make me feel more in control of my body.

She also chatted with me a bit about babymaking and some of the issues when considering known vs unknown donors, recommended a book for me to read, and advised me to eat lots of yogurt to stave off infections, which might also be contributing to the pain. She rocks.

Man, what a day. Even writing about it now brings back the tears and the shakes. And it WASN’T THAT BAD. It didn’t hurt very much. What the hell is up with me? Oh well; it’s over. For now. Hopefully the physical therapy will help, because I would hate to put myself, The Other Mother, and whichever medical professionals are present through this on a monthly basis.