At Your Cervix

I got a letter from my ob/gyn yesterday notifying me that it’s time for my semi-annual poke and grope.  I like my ob/gyn.  She’s funny, pretty, and best of all, she doesn’t pressure me to pro-create.  And since she can actually find my cervix, I will continue to see her twice a year.  What?  You’ve never lost your cervix?  You’ve never been a little absent-minded and left your cervix in the back of a cab or perhaps accidentally dropped it in the mail slot while mailing your electric bill?  Um yeah, me neither, but that didn’t stop my first doctor from asking me, “Where’s your cervix?” I looked at her to see if she was kidding.  She wasn’t.  “Well,” I said, “You were the last one to see it, you tell me!”

After more hemming and hawing on her part and oooching and owwwing on mine, she decided to bring in the head doctor, well, not the head doctor.  I do have issues but those issues would increase astronomically if my therapist started poking around my nether regions.  This doctor came in wearing one of those headbands with a mirror attached to the front and a flashlight.  A flashlight?  With all the high-tech gadgets sitting in the exam room, the best they could come up with is a miner’s hat and a flashlight?  I was getting a little nervous that there would be a knock on the door and seven tiny men with pointed hats would come wandering into the room singing an annoying ditty about going to work.  Given my relationship with little people that is not a scenario I envisioned ending well.

The head doctor asked me all kinds of questions like:

Have I had this problem before?  The only problem I could see was the fact that two doctors with umpteen medical degrees between them can’t find something that I’m sure was there the night before.  Should I call Mr. Dingo to verify this?

Is my pelvis tilted? Only on the dance floor after several Jack and Diet Cokes and some really bad 80’s retro music.

Have I had children? WTF?  Did they not read my gazillion page medical history?  No, I have not had children. Why?  Are they prone to taking cervixes and hiding them in their diapers or something? Just another reason why I am not going to pop one out.  Apparently, they like to hide internal organs!

After the exam room became too small for all the doctors and nurses who gathered to look at the wonder of science that is my hoo-ha, we decided that I should go see a specialist.  I don’t know if there’s anything worse than having someone look at your hoo-ha as they shake their head and mutter, “We’d better send you to a specialist.” And you know how I KNEW my cervix was where it was supposed to be?  Because upon hearing those words, it shriveled up in fear and ended up somewhere near my throat.

So, I went to see the specialist who, without any flashlights, miner’s caps, search and rescue teams, or CSI crews, was able to find my cervix right where it was supposed to be.  And I’ve been going to her ever since.

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