THE TORTURES OF BEING A WOMAN ...

Cannot wait for this joyous event each year, my annual gynecologist visit, followed by the extra "fun" mammogram. Luckily, I have an amazing doctor but due to the fact that everyone else thinks she is amazing, it is really hard to book an appointment with her. I usually have to schedule months in advance to see her. Trying to be smart this time, I asked for the earliest possible appointment in the morning, thinking I would not have to wait. Wrong again. While I am sitting in the waiting room patiently, I cannot stop feeling like I am in a Seinfeld episode. As Jerry said to George: "There's NO chance of not waiting, 'cause they call it the waiting room, and they're going to use it". 

I arrive early and to my surprise there is nobody else in the main waiting room but me, so I am confident I will be the first one to be called in. I check in and sit down, trying to kill some time by checking my emails on my phone...but of course there is no cell reception in the waiting area. Go figure. Soon, a couple of other women arrive. We are sitting at least 10 seats apart in this massive size of a waiting room. My appointment was at 8:30 and it is a few minutes past already but I am patient and hopeful. All of a sudden the door opens and the nurse comes with a chart in her hand, I am literally ready to stand up, but then she says: "Mary"...what??? Are you kidding me? OK, maybe "Mary" is going to see a different doctor, not mine, so I have to be next. I know they have several exam rooms back there. Next to the door there is a sign saying if you are not called in 15 minutes after your scheduled appointment time, let them know. OK, I will wait a little longer, do not want to anger the staff because they will never ever let me in. The door opens again and another nurse appears with someone else's chart and calls in the other woman. Now I am definitely getting a little upset, I do not care anymore and march up to the attendant's desk and while nicely smiling I inquire about when I could be expected to be called, considering it is almost 10 minutes to 9. She ensures me that she will look into it and sure enough within a few more minutes I am next.

As Seinfeld said it, now they take me into the "smaller' waiting room. The nurse does the usual checks, hate the scale, but what annoys me more is when she asks me if I know how tall I am. Is this supposed to be funny? Yes, I do know, no reason to point out I am short. My kids remind me every single day. Or maybe she is implying I am shrinking already? Blood pressure is fine despite the obvious circumstances. Finally, she hands me my ever sexy exam outfit and instructs me to shed all my clothes, put on the lovely paper gown, opening in the front, cover yourself with the paper blanket and leaves with the words "Doctor will be in shortly"...Seriously, at this point you know they are straight out lying to you. Now you are trapped in this small waiting room, dressed in a ridiculously ugly outfit that barely covers your nakedness, sitting on top of the examining table. They know you are vulnerable; you will not run. You will wait. Wait forever. Till eternity. No sound or sign of my doctor. I already read all the educational posters on the wall. What now? I am ready to snatch one of those magazines placed strategically so far away from the examining table that I cannot just simply lean over and grab one but I actually have to hop off the table in my revealing outfit. The second I decide to go for it, there is the long awaited knock on the door, so I scramble back to the table, trying to cover up whatever is hanging out so I can finally get my exam on its way.

Mammogram...now this is the place where there is no waiting at all. They rush you into the torture chamber fast before you can change your mind. Don't be fooled by the modern looking equipment at all. Think middle ages, forced confessions. If men's penises were to be examined the same way, squeezed between two plastic plates until they cannot breathe, they sure would have invented a more humane machine to screen you for breast cancer. But no, nothing really changed in the last 20 years. Imagine hanging on with one hand holding a bar high up, while the technician fits one of your breasts on the plate, engages the mechanics to start tightening, flattening it into a pancake. No, actually into a crepe. While you are on your tiptoes holding on, not moving, not breathing, in obvious discomfort, after a lame apology, "sorry I know, hang on do not move", she is asking you about your children with a big smile on your face. Then repeats the exam in different positions, both sides of course. What we have to endure as women, right? Anyways, despite the uncomfortable experience, this is perhaps one of the most important exams all of us women should have. So my lady friends, go get your tops and bottoms checked! #mommydearest

Unfortunately, my visit this year happened in a new country. And by new I mean a country I have spent much time in but one that I have never had a doctors visit to before. The private clinic was located off a main street in the city, through a basement-like door, leading into a very white and sterile looking waiting room filled with several other women who had come after work for their visit. I wait patiently with my friend, who has escorted me to the doctors office in lieu of my mother, in an attempt to calm my nerves and a chance at having an exam by one of the best in the city. After they finally call my name, the nurse takes me into a room where the doctor is waiting for me. The room is a good size, including a desk and computer where the doctor is sitting, I'm assuming his office. Then to my horror, I see the exam table a little over to the left as well as a drape, which I realize is where I am supposed to change.

After some detailed and fast questions, the doctor asks me to take off the clothing on my lower half and sit on the exam table. (No one told me I would have my jewels hanging out all over the place with no where to hide). Part one complete. He then asks me to put my clothes back on and take off the ones on my top half so he can do the second part of the exam. I once again feel extremely uncomfortable and bare, with nowhere to hide in that cold, big room. The exam part 2 is complete and I get dressed and sit down on the chair by his desk, expecting to have a conversation about the medication I had asked for. He writes me a prescription before I can even sit down, hands it to me, and tells me I'm all set to go. Confused, I said okay, and walked towards the door, trying to collect my thoughts. As one last note before I leave he says "Stay away from sugar, and exercise frequently". Ummmm what??? I was not prepared for this experience as it is a far cry from how it is done in the States. I left feeling slightly vulnerable, although later understood that this is just how things are done here and I best get used to it. #dianasays