Emma
"Everything feels great here. Emma, come over and feel around for any lumps."
The woman with the bushiest nipples I've ever seen lies on the exam table, in all her glory, tits out, ready to be felt up.
It's woman's health week and we're shadowing OBGYNs to determine if it's a field we're interested in. Let's just say, I have no desire to be scooting around vaginas day in and day out. Nope, no interest at all.
"Oh, that's okay." I wave my hand as a dismissal. "I felt the last lady's breasts. You feel one, you feel them all, you know."
"Not even in the slightest," Dr. Tinkle scoffs. Yes, Dr. Mary Ann Tinkle. Might as well call her Dr. Pee Pee and get it over with. Dr. Pee Pee to exam room four, there is an immature urethra waiting for you . . .
"Come over here." Dr. Tinkle turns to Debra and says, "Students can be a little gun-shy when it comes to sexual organs."
Thank you, Dr. Tinkle, for making this that much more uncomfortable.
Holding back my groan, I mechanically stick out my arm from my side and press around Debra's breasts like Dr. Tinkle taught me earlier . . . on her own breasts. And when the nurse walked in her office to let us know her nine o'clock arrived, that didn't make things weird at all, you know, with my hands on Dr. Tinkle's naked breasts and all.
"These seem very soft, no lumps detected." Stepping back, I clap my hands together. "Good job, Debra, on not growing the lumps. Well done, breasts." I give her an awkward thumbs up and keep my distance.
Please, God. Please remove me from my misery.
"Thank you, Emmit," Debra says condescendingly. Total bitch, right?
She's been nasty to me ever since I asked if it was normal for patients to leave their socks on during examinations. It just seemed odd. They're naked beside a thin garment that's open in the front but wearing socks? I mean, at this point, with your cooter winking at everyone, you might as well remove the socks and be done with it.
Dr. Tinkle starts moving things around on her little metal table and scans Debra's chart. Thankfully, the old PAP smear has already been done, so I think we should be finishing up.
"Do the cysts on your uterus still hurt? Has the birth control helped?"
"It seems to be. I haven't been having the side pain like usual."
"That's good, I still want to check things out." Turning to me, Dr. Tinkle says, "Grab a pair of gloves." I quickly snag a pair from the box and try to hand them to her but she shakes her head. "No, those are for you. Put them on." From the table beside her, she grips the lube and pulls the top off. "Hold out your finger."
What the?
In a haze, I do as she says, my finger pointing awkwardly in the air as if I have vagina lube on it. Oh wait, I do. I have freaking vagina lube on my finger. I thought I skipped the whole tunnel digging, but I guess I was wrong.
"Okay, we're going to do a quick rectal insertion and feel around for cysts. Debra, are you ready?"
Debra nods as I attempt to interpret the word rectal.
"Emma, go ahead and stick your finger in her anus and then press down on her uterus. We are feeling for any large lumps."
Errr . . . anus? Finger in the anus? What?
Before I can process what's happening, Dr. Tinkle is guiding me, finger forward, lube ready, straight toward the spread of Debra's legs. I don't want to be doing this; I don't want my finger up someone's ass, especially Debra's, who seems like she's ready to eat my finger through her rectum. Knowing I shouldn't have a grossed-out look on my face—doesn't seem like the right thing—I impersonate a psychotic clown instead: mentally scary smiling eyes fixed on Debra's asshole plunging forward.
