Miss Dawn is our Director  of Promotions here at the Bruce Mikells Multi-Media Center. She makes sure that all of the incredible stuff we do for you doesn't have any loose ends flapping in the breeze.

She is one of the funniest and most interesting people in the  building. While petite in physical stature, Miss Dawn cuts a mighty big swath with her personality, charm, and wit. She is one of the hardest workers we have on staff too.

A while back Miss Dawn and I were discussing life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness when I asked her the question, "What is wrong with women?" I meant that in a joking and not condescending way. It was more of a "why are women the way they are?" query.

Well Miss Dawn said that I just don't understand what women have to go through that men will never experience.  The following essay is a story about an experience I have never had and probably never will. It's about going to the " lady doctor".  Here is the story, as experienced by Miss Dawn.

What’s Wrong?...

It’s the age old question that men have been asking woman for years!

I’ll tell you “what’s wrong” with me today. I started off my day with a 9am appointment to my favorite doctor, the gynecologist! Yay for me! I don’t hate going to the gynecologist. I do believe the health of my body is very important so I suffer through the process, yes, the process. There is so much more that goes into visiting the gynecologist than just putting on your clothes and heading out the door.

I’m sure I speak for many women when I say that it is very important to feel clean. After all, your entire body is being exposed to a total stranger. After a quick shower, I find myself rummaging through my drawer full of socks trying to find the perfect ones to wear. Who cares what kind of socks you wear to the doctor you might say? Well I do! Especially since it’s the only piece of clothing I get to keep on.

I bypass the plain Jane white ones and choose a pair of black and white harlequin knee high socks. It’s funny how a fun pair of socks makes me feel somewhat better about taking all of my other articles of clothing off in front of a stranger. Body clean, deodorant on, sprits myself with perfume, and I have on my socks of “courage”. I get in my truck and I’m off.

As though going to the gynecologist isn’t torture enough, now I have to wait, and wait, and wait some more. At this point, I just want to get my check-up over with and be on my way.

When they finally call me to the back, I'm asked for a urine sample, then they weigh me and take my blood pressure.

Once you’re done with all that jazz, you are brought into a room where the nurse begins to ask you a series of very personal questions. Oh lord here we go. How old are you? Are you married? Are you dating? Are you sexually active? What method of birth control do you use? Have you had any surgeries recently?

Depending on how you answer these questions, other questions might be asked which can become extremely personal. At this point I’m glad that my blood pressure was taken before we started the questions.

And now the fun begins.

“Go ahead and take off all your clothes except your socks. Put the gown on with the opening facing the front and you can put the sheet across your legs. The doctor will be in shortly.”

In this current state of undress there is more waiting. The doctor finally comes in and tells me hello. We have our usual, “how have you been? You look good,” conversation and then he begins. He first examines the breasts and then he’s off to examine my lady parts. This is the time that you pray that your efforts in the shower have paid off!! And God forbid you had beans the night before.

I love my body. I workout several times a week so being unclothed in the  presence of someone I’m close to doesn’t bother me, but having a stranger near my nether region is nerve racking!

The exam is done before I know it and I am allowed to put my clothes back on.  I walk out of the exam room and head toward the front desk where the nice receptionist will schedule for me to go through this whole process once again a year from now.

Next year around this time, I will allow my gyno, who is still somewhat a stranger, to poke and prod my unclothed body for the 16th time without buying me dinner or a drink first.

And you wonder what’s wrong with women.

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