Jan 10, 2013

The blog in which it's unnecessary use of the word "gynecological."

The word evokes so much emotion for me.  I was scrolling through Facebook (shocker, I know), and read the title of a page that was actually totally unrelated to it, but the name of the page had the word "Gynecological" in it.  Ugh.  Is that necessary?  Any variation of that word makes me shudder, gag, shake, get nauseated, sometimes, cry.  I know, I worked at one of those offices for about six months, but I hibernated in the lab and never spoke of what they talk about there.  Once, I was handed a "sample," and I didn't even know this type of thing needed testing.  (All I can say is... that poor patient who had to endure the retrieval of the sample.  Bless her heart.)

What I am onto here, is...  Why would anyone use this word?  If you are male, and I doubt many of you are reading this with a schlong, but if you are, you might be a girl now.  Anyway, if you have never been into a... gasp... gynecological exam room, and seen some of the instruments of torture, let me tell you about them.  First, the table, then the speculum, then the lube (gag), then the Q-tip that looks like it belongs in a cartoon from the 70's, then the paper gown,  the bristle brush that they say is for a sample of some sort, and I have personally handed one to more than one doc over the course of my career, and still feel like it is better used to clean off a grill top than collect a vaginal sample.....

Oh, never mind.  I can't properly compose this.  My brain is just going back to the headline on Facebook page that used the word "gynecological" in it, while it was simply posting a story of a child who had a cochlear implant turned on, and his reaction to it.  Change your page name, freaks!  Instead of warm fuzzies from your video, I gagged, began sweating profusely, thought I heard lube plop onto a surgical tray, and heard a doctor put rubber gloves on while saying, "Take a breathe..."  WHY???  OH WHY ARE WE TAKING A BREATHE??  I still feel you shoving something foreign into my body from an orifice that is sacred to my husband, alone.  (Technically, it is a fun memory with my children too, but why go there?)

I think I need a Facebook detox.  I NEED TO FEEL BETTER!  Sidenote... I put on clothes to go get the mail and have lunch.  I am back in pajamas.  That was over rated.  Well, halfsies.  I am wearing a bra and a non pajama top, but still have on my pajama-loose-grey pants and my fuzzy socks.  Compromise friends.

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