Good Vibrations Magazine

I have doctor anxiety. “White Coat Syndrome“. Fear of anything medical-related. I think I got it from my mother; she has it too.

So, when I received a postcard in the mail telling me it was once again time for a gynecologist visit, I cringed. My heart started pounding and my mind raced. How long could I put it off?

“What’s that?” my girlfriend asked, and reached for the postcard. “Oh, you’re going,” she said, “And I’m going to make the appointment for you.”

“Fine,” I said, “but don’t tell me when it is until it’s almost time to go.” She agreed. All I knew was that it was “sometime in April” and I did a pretty good job of putting it out of my mind until April came around.

The day inevitably came; I just wanted to get it over with, and I found myself dressed and ready to go early. I sat on the couch, popped a few of the herbal anti-anxiety pills a friend had given me, tried to breathe and pet my dogs. (That really does help!)

Fast forward an hour, and there I was, sitting on the table in the paper “gown” that consisted of a paper vest that opened in the front and a paper “skirt” that I had to keep tucking under my butt. After waiting for about 10 minutes, I cursed myself for not grabbing a magazine before I sat down. But, it was too late, and I knew the minute I’d stand up and reach for that Elle Décor, the door would open and my bare behind would be welcoming the doctor into the room.

So, there I sat, memorizing the room, my feet freezing. I noticed that there were oven mitts over the ends of the stirrups and wondered if I should just lie down and slip my feet inside them, but figured that would be really weird if the doctor came in and I was already “in position.” So, I sat some more. I worked on my posture. I looked at the baby pictures on the corkboard (babies the doctor had obviously delivered). I closed my eyes and pretended I was in a movie. I thought about my upcoming vacation. And finally, the door opened.

The doctor was about my age. Her glasses were stylish, and I have to say, when I saw her I took a deep breath and knew it’d be okay. I felt like I could talk to her, and so I did.

I let her know about a bad experience I had with a prior doctor. It involved being verbally diagnosed with HPV, years ago, when actually the test came back to show I was negative. (And, so here I was for a week, thinking I had “something called HPV”…which nobody was really talking about yet.)

The same doctor, who was not my regular nurse practitioner, also yelled at his assistant quite rudely, and said some really inappropriate things that made me uncomfortable. This was all while my feet were in the stirrups, mind you. He went on to talk about a possible cause of HPV stemming from an anti-miscarriage drug some women used in the 60s-70s, and how ironic that was, seeing as I was adopted and all. I kid you not. This doctor was basically saying, how strange it was that maybe I was a wanted baby after all, even though I was being put up for adoption. It was surreal, and though I vowed to write a letter to complain, I never did, as I was just relieved that my test came back normal and I never had to go back to that doctor again.

Anyway, back to my current visit; the doctor listened to me, and answered a lot of questions I had. In the last few years, my body has gone through several changes, and we talked about what it’s like to enter the late 30s. Everything I asked her about was met with an explanation about what happens when women get older and hormones start changing. It was comforting to hear that some things that may not seem “normal” are perfectly “normal.”

We also had a great chat about menopause, as I asked her questions for a project I’m working on for GV. I told her where I worked, and it was nice to hear her say, “Oh yes, I refer people to Good Vibrations all the time.” We talked about lube, libido, cramping, spotting, hot flashes, sleep deprivation and more. I left the doctor’s office with a sense of satisfaction, happy with myself that I faced my fears, and happy to have some additional knowledge under my belt.

So, what’s the point of this story, you may be asking. Well, I’m here to say, that if I survived a visit to the doctor, anyone can. If you’re afraid of the doctor like I am, it may just be that you need one good experience to start chipping away at the fear.

If you don’t like your doctor, by all means, arrange to get a new one. What a difference a little human contact and communication can make.

And, when that postcard comes again in a few years, though I might feel a little anxious, I will think about the oven mitts, and call the doctor to make the appointment myself.