Some of you who have been reading my blog for a long time, may remember a few posts which pertained to my lack of trust, discomfort with and outright paranoia associated with male Gynecologists. These posts were titled; “Male Gynecologists Make Me Feel Awkward Part 1,” “Male Gynecologists Make Me Feel Awkward Part 2,” and a spin-off/Rick story titled, “Null Sehx uff Eeenie-Kind.” They were written when Krystal was pregnant with my daughter, Kaiya who is now 3 years old.
In a nutshell, the following paragraph from M.G.M.M.F.A. Part 1, generally sums up my negative feelings and apprehension I possess towards male gynecologists.
Is it weird to feel a tad bit jealous or uncomfortable knowing that a male Gynecologist is doing his Gynecology thing to your girlfriend/wife/fiancée? I know it probably sounds ridiculous to some of you and I realize that these men are licensed practitioners and probably see dozens of vaginas every day, but I have never heard of them being neutered prior to becoming licensed Gynecologists. So when a male Gynecologist becomes a licensed practitioner of vaginal health, does he all the sudden lose his attraction to women? I mean, I personally have never met an abundance of men who had a fascination with fallopian tubes, uteruses and cervixes, who weren’t total perverts. Are they all gay? I have always wondered at what point in a male Gynecologist’s life he came to the realization of, “ya know what? I want to work in a field where I literally get to scope out a ton of vaginas and get paid well for it!!!” That doesn’t sound like too bad of a gig…for a presumably intelligent pervert.
With that said…
Through the entirety of Krystal’s pregnancy with Kaiya, I thankfully didn’t have to suffer through many appointments in which Krystal’s Gynecologist was a man. I think it happened only once. The Asian student from M.G.M.M.F.A. Part 2 (“College Student Dan”), didn’t catch a glimpse of Krystal’s vagina from what I could tell. I think the only doctor who did, was the one referenced in Part 1.
However, Krystal and I didn’t wait very long in terms of creating our second child. Approximately 9 months after Kaiya was born, my 2nd daughter, Phaedra, was conceived. So it wasn’t long before I had to accompany my wife to those dreadful appointments with male Gynecologists again.
Speaking of Phaedra, she is now one and a half years old. So obviously, it has taken me a long time to get around to writing this entry. The outline has been completed for almost 2 years now. Also, to avoid confusion, Krystal is my wife, but in this story, I refer to her as my fiancée because we weren’t married when this all took place.
Phaedra and Kaiya, are so much different than each other in almost every possible way with an exception of them both being girls. One difference between the two of them was determined early. Krystal’s primary gynecologist when she was pregnant with Kaiya was a female. Krystal’s primary gynecologist with Phaedra, was a male. And to be quite honest with you, I hated this guy’s fucking guts. My hatred for this dude was ignited during the first appointment we had with him, which was the only appointment I attended in which Krystal was scheduled to meet with him.
I arrived at the appointment, already on edge. I already knew what this appointment was supposed to consist of and it made me grouchy. At this appointment, Krystal’s vagina was going to be probed and inspected by a male gynecologist. Not fun for me. Well, how selfish of me. Not fun for her either, I’m sure.
We checked in with the receptionist and sat down in the waiting room. We sat in the waiting room for roughly 10 minutes. While waiting, I noticed the general lack of hygiene sported by the majority of the other ladies who were waiting for their own appointments. It was bad to the extent to which I almost began feeling sorry for the Gynecologists who had to investigate their vaginas. There was a late-teens/early-twenties gal who came there with her mother. She spent the entire time speaking loudly to her mother about how she was CONVINCED that she wasn’t going to test positive for Chlamydia during this appointment as she apparently did in her previous appointment. Her mother didn’t seem to agree with her, which increased the octave of this gal’s voice in the argument. If there was a single person in that waiting room at that time that didn’t know that girl had issues with acquiring Chlamydia, then that person was either deaf, a young child, sleeping or stupid. I couldn’t believe how loud, obnoxious and OPEN this girl was while talking about her chlamydia infections while surrounded by a dozen strangers in a waiting room.
There was another gal who sat across from us. This was a heavier woman who appeared as if she hadn’t showered in days, sporting short grey soiled shorts that exposed her tapioca pudding-looking thunder-thighs. She was accompanied by her skinny, mustached significant other, who I caught attempting to obscurely move his hand up the tapioca bumps and in to her vaginal region. Without thinking, I sighed when I noticed him doing this. My sigh was noticeable enough for this dude to get the point that I was sighing about what he was doing, for he quickly moved his hands out of his lady’s vaginal region and into his pockets and proceeded to call his 3 children over to them. These children were behaving erratically in the waiting room the entire time we were there. They were running around, yelling, throwing shit, stepping on people’s shoes without apologizing, just being rude and disruptive and general. It wasn’t shocking that these kids all belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Public and Grotesque Display of Affection who were seemingly oblivious to the fact that their stupid kids were in the waiting room with them, stealing my Sports Illustrated magazine from me and pulling Krystal’s hair as well as other disrespectful behaviors. “There are some unbelievably stupid people in here,” I thought to myself. “My God, this gyno is going to breathe a sigh of relief when he comes into the room and sees that he will be probing Krystal’s vagina, considering the appearance of his other clients in this waiting room as well as Krystal’s hotness. What a DOUCHE!!!” I thought to myself.
I’ve thought about this topic a lot and I’ve concluded that Gynecologists do have their preferences in terms of the vagina’s hygiene as well as the efficiency and convenience of working with them. For example, I guarantee a physician prefers it when the woman’s vagina does not smell like tuna helper, which was exactly what I thought I smelled in the waiting room. Not to mention, I assume they prefer to be efficient in their work, which means they won’t have to sift through rolls of flab, gunk and possibly the patient’s family’s long-lost television remote controller, while simply just trying to locate the damn vagina. “This guy is going to come into the office, glance at Krystal and be pumped up that he gets to scope out a hot chick’s vagina,” I thought. Ugh, I hate gynos.
So the receptionist eventually called Krystal’s name and directed her to an office down the hall. This was the office that belonged to the male gynecologist who was about to probe my fiancee’s pussy. As I sat in a chair in the office, I immediately tried to distract myself from the inevitable agitation I knew I’d be experiencing soon, by silently thinking of tongue twisters. For some reason, the first letter that came to my mind, was the letter “F.” I began thinking to myself, I’m freakin’ fixin’ to feel out this physician fart-knocker who’s about to feel my fiancee’s fresh, fantastic fallopian tube.” I kind of chuckled to myself and thought, “haha, that’s a good one.” Then it hit me that my tongue twister was actually a good idea. I thought to myself, “you know, I probably should do that. Maybe look around his office and get a feel for who this guy is. After all, he’s about to see more of my fiancee’s female anatomy than I ever will…might as well see how pissed off I’m going to become to potentially alleviate the negative anticipation.”
The first thing I noticed in his office was a large poster in which he photoshopped his body pumping his fist and put it in place of Tiger Woods sinking a shot in front of a cheering crowd. I knew this was what he did, because the name, “Woods” was visible on this scoreboard looking-thing in the poster…and this Dr.’s last name was not “Woods.” “Yeah…this guy is a royal douche,” I thought to myself. I am not a golfer and am definitely not a fan of people who idolize golfers or themselves to the point where they photoshop a picture of themselves, paste it over Tiger Woods’s body and make a fucking poster out of it and post it in their office.
First impression: total douche-nugget. I knew he was a douche just by looking at that poster. However, one cool thing I did notice about his physical appearance was that his hairline was identical to mine. I’ve never seen anyone’s hair resemble my own hair so much. Cool hair, brah!
I decided to shift my eyes to other areas of the office. The next thing I noticed was his book shelf. The entire book shelf consisted of an array of various books pertaining to vaginal science. “That’s pretty cool, I guess. By the looks of his collection of books, it appears as if this guy genuinely is interested in vaginas and is probably pretty knowledgeable when it comes to them. It’s good to know Krystal will at least be well taken care of. He must really know the “in’s and out’s” when it comes to vaginas. At that moment, my eyes inadvertently shifted to a portrait of his family. He had 7 freaking children. My next thought was, “well, apparently this guy is not only familiar with the ‘in’s and out’s’ of vaginas, but he definitely likes to go in and out of vaginas as well. Otherwise he wouldn’t have produced so many children.” It was abundantly clear that this man loved pussy. He liked to study them and he liked to fornicate with them. He liked to make babies come out of them…lots of babies. This was not a gay Gynecologist as I would have preferred, but a very, very straight one despite the despicable golf poster.
Suddenly, we heard a knock on the door. It was Dr. Pussy-probin’ Parent of a Posse. He entered the room looking all goofy and shit and in an equally goofy voice to match his goofy physical appearance, introduced himself and asked Krystal how she was feeling. He proceeded to ask her a few basic interview questions before explaining to us the procedure that he was about to perform. In great detail, he explained the ultrasound procedure, in which Krystal’s belly was going to be lubed up and a Doppler was going to be used to listen for the baby’s heartbeat. Fun times, really. I love that part.
He followed his elaborate explanation of the ultrasound procedure by stating something that pissed me off beyond comprehension. He said, “after we’re done with that, you will have to remove your undergarments and I am going to pick at you.” PICK at her?!?!?!?!? “He seriously just told us that he was going to ‘PICK’ at Krystal, meaning he is going to examine and probe her vagina?!?! PICK…AT…HER…? Are you fucking serious?” I thought to myself. “What the fuck does he think she has between her legs? A fucking banjo? Is he gonna pick at my fiancee’s vagina and try to play it like a fucking acoustic guitar? FUCKING DOUCHEBAG!!!”
This doctor continued to flap his lips about God knows what, while I sat there and stewed about how appalling I thought it was that this dude just told us that he was going to “pick” at my fiancee’s vagina. I began thinking of all the things that are generally “picked” at and became increasingly infuriated. I thought to myself, “You pick your nose. You pick at scabs. You pick your nails. You pick the lint out of your belly button. You pick your zits. You DON’T pick at another man’s fiancee’s freaking vagina and if you are picking at a vagina, what the hell are you picking at!?!? I suppose if a person had crabs, they’d pick their crabs off. In fact, after seeing some of the troglodyte women in the waiting room, I bet this guy picks crabs off of his patient’s vaginas on a daily basis. Wait a second, does this guy think Krystal has crabs? Oh hell no. I hate this guy.”
I forced myself to try to think about something else. The first thing that came to my mind was picking those disgusting fennel seeds out of rye bread prior to eating a reuben sandwich. I despise those freaking things. Almost immediately, I caught myself and knew exactly why I began thinking about picking fennel seeds out of rye bread in reuben sandwiches. It was because of that old joke about how vaginas resemble the inside of a reuben sandwich combined with my anger-fueled fixation with how this guy said he was going to “pick” at Krystal…as if she had something on her vagina to pick off. It’s funny how your mind independently makes associations.
I needed to think about something else, for this thought about reuben sandwiches was not alleviating my anger at all.
While Gyno-man continued to flap his lips about whatever, I resorted to thinking of tongue twisters again. And guess what the letter was this time? You guessed it, the letter “P.” Here are a couple of the tongue twisters that grazed through my mind at that time:
“This perverted pussy Practitioner thinks he’s gonna pick a piece of pizza from my precious pregnant partner’s punana.” Ugh, gross.
“Practitioner Put-Put Poster picks at polyps on pussies all day.”
“Proctologist Practitioner Peter Piper picked and patted his poopy pickle. How many picks, pats and poopers made Proctologist Practitioner Peter Piper’s pecker poopy?”
“Pompous practitioner of pussies plays with his pickle while peering at his put-put poster.”
“Practitioner Perverted Pussy-pants probes and prods at pussies in hopes he’ll pick a pepperoni and throw a pizza pie and Pabst party.”
“The thought of Pussy practitioners not being perverted, pompous pigs puzzles me.”
“This practitioner of poontangs wants to play put-put with his penis while he picks at my pregnant partner’s prized pink pussy.”
Ok, that was enough. Distracting myself with tongue twisters pertaining to practitioners performing procedures involving picking at my pregnant partner’s precious pussy while playing put-put with his pulsating penis, pushed and prompted me to become even more pouty, paranoid, protective and profusely pissed off to where I wanted to punch the practitioner in the pecker and pull down his prized poster that he presumably pats his plump pickle to.
At this point, I needed to just calm down, clear my mind and try to not think of anything. However, I was incapable. I began thinking about where Dr. Pussy took his wife for Gynecology appointments when she was pregnant with his own 7 children. I assume that he worked on her pussy himself. I doubt he’d want one of his co-workers to do it, considering he presumably knows what goes through a gynecologist’s mind when procedures are performed. I assume he specifically scheduled her appointments for days where he was working. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to work with someone who probed and prodded and “picked” at my wife’s pussy either. It would be awkward.
Then I began thinking about female gynecologists. Who performs their procedures when they are pregnant or have vaginal issues? Certainly not a male co-worker, right?
Various thoughts such as these sailed through my mind for a few minutes until it was finally time to get the show on the road. Krystal was advised by Dr. Pussy to remove her panties, sit on a table and position herself sitting spread eagle while this guy grabbed a flashlight out of his drawer. He proceeded to prod, poke, probe and “pick” away at my wife’s vagina with his flashlight beaming directly on it, while I sat there with my arms crossed and a pouty expression on my face. “I don’t know if I have ever hated my life more than I do now,” I thought. That thought entered my mind too soon, for the doctor, while probing my wife’s vagina prompted me to hate my life even more when he looked at me and said in a monotone voice, “yeahhhh, things are looking great. Things are just looking so good. No problems. No polyps. Yeahhh…this is going well. This is so good.” “I KNOW HER PUSSY IS GOOD, YOU IMBECILE!!!” I shouted silently to myself. He continued saying these sorts of things for the remainder of the pussy-probe procedure, which thankfully, only lasted another minute or so. If this was his method of trying to comfort me, then well, he achieved the opposite of the desired outcome, for I was incredibly angry and uncomfortable.
I was in a moderately pissy-pouty mood for a couple hours following this dreadful appointment. I made it clear to Krystal that I was never going to attend one of those appointments with that doctor again, and while she thought I was behaving immaturely (and she was probably right), she acknowledged my concerns and reluctantly agreed to not make me attend appointments where she was to have her vagina probed by a male gynecologist ever again.
I realize this may come off as neurotic, immature, ridiculous and possibly just straight up stupid, but I’m just going to come out and say it. I….HATE….MALE….GYNOS. I hate the fact that I feel this way about a group of people based on neurotic speculation and what they do for a living, but I just can’t help myself of being apprehensive of these people…especially considering the fact that the ones I have had experiences with have generally been eccentric individuals. I don’t want these people probing my wife’s vagina. I don’t want any other man, except me, having access to my wife’s vagina. Go ahead and think I’m an idiot for feeling this way, for you are probably right. This may just be one of those quirks of mine that are irreversible, no matter how ridiculous it is. Male Gynecologists make me feel awkward.