It's my Speciality

The other day my mom called and asked if I would make an appointment with the gynecologist for her. At her age I don't know why she needs a twat doctor but I said I would call. I asked what her problem was just in case it was something she could see her regular doctor for. My mom tells me her uterus hurts. Hmmm.

"Ma" I said, "You don't have a uterus". She said "I know".

"So if you know you don't have a uterus, tell me why it is you think your uterus is hurting?"

"It isn't my uterus. It's my uterus hole".

"Ma, that would be your cervix and that's way up inside of you just like the uterus you don't have. Are you hurting up inside?"

"No, it's on the outside".

I gave up. Let the doctor figure it out. I was deathly afraid if I asked too many more questions I would end up being asked to see things better left unseen.

The last time I called the GYN office it was nearly three weeks before they could get Mom in so I went about my normal morning activities clueless to what the rest of the day would bring. I had the girls in the car heading toward the splash pad at the community center when I remembered I needed to call for the appointment. To my surprise the nice lady asked if I could have Mom there at 2:15. I asked what my options were and was told I could come at 9:00 the following morning. I'm not halfway through my chores by 9:00 and I was going to have the girls again so I said "See you at 2:15". I called Cyndi (mother of girls) and told her I would bring them home after the appointment. She set it up for Jared (father of girls and husband to Cyndi) to pick the girls up at Mom's house so I wouldn't have to take them to the appointment with me. I appreciated that. Mom is hard enough to deal with at these things.

Mom and I come rolling into the office - by rolling I mean, us and the walker thingie - with one minute to spare. We made the obligatory toilet visit and then we settled down to wait. So far, so good. We didn't have to wait long before we were called and it wasn't long at all in the exam room before the doctor came in. He was a BABY! I swear, if he was 30 years old I am the virgin mother. He was also wearing cowboy boots and I thought that just maybe my mother had lucked into the world's one and only gay gynecologist. That was until I noticed he was also wearing some sort of khaki slacks with cuffs and those slacks appeared to be an inch or two too short. I figured he might not be gay after all because no self respecting gay man would be caught dead in that outfit. I'm still on the fence about it.

The doctor started poking around Mom's nether regions, clearing away the cobwebs and such as he asked her what was hurting. Mom started telling him it was her uterus. The conversation that ensued was almost verbatim to the one she and I had the day before. Brave baby doctor was already positioned between Mom's legs staring at things I wanted no part of. He asked Mom to point to the painful area, she did and he delared it to be her vulva. He also said he had no idea why it was causing her pain because he had previously treated her for several things that obviously weren't causing the pain. This is where it gets weird. The lovely young doctor began telling my mother about doctors who specialize in - wait for it - vulvas. Yes, my sarcasm meter peaked. One eyebrow began to rise skyward and I could feel the giggles beginning deep down inside me as all sorts of smartass quips circled in my brain. I clenched my teeth and swallowed hard. How do you decide to go to school for elebenty hundred years and then specialize in vulvas? Is that the only part of the anatomy this person can spell so by golly why not specialize in it? This shit was racing through my head and I was doing my best to keep it all to myself. Then the doctor said "There are doctors who specialize in vulvar pain". When he pronounced vulvar it came out sounding more like 'vuuullllvaahhhrrrr'. (If you want the full effect, wiggle your chin back and forth while saying 'vuuullllvaahhhrrrr'. Especially on the r's.) To make it even more difficult for me to keep my composure he kept saying it over and over again. I tried. I really tried... and then I lost it.

Have you ever had a laugh come roaring out of you so hard it seemed to have a life of its own? I couldn't stop it. It was a full on, hardy har, bend me over, knee-slapping belly laugh. I couldn't catch my breath. Tears ran from my eyes. I tried to find a tissue in my purse but couldn't see what I was doing. I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe at times. Every now and again my vision would clear enough that I could see my mother and her very young, possibly gay doctor staring at me. With every ounce of effort I could muster I managed to choke out the words "You're shitting me, right?" After that it was hopeless. I had no control whatsoever. I ran on about how could one possibly decide to become a vulvar pain specialist and was that really a profession? Could it be that the deciding factor in becoming a vulvar pain specialist is the purchase price of the ONE book it takes to cover the area? Is that considered a discount medical education? I'm assuming parents paying the enormous costs of college to have their 'doctor' offspring study vulvas find it a bit embarrassing to brag to their friends about. My son studies the fatty part of your daughter's cooter. Oh yeah, there's a proud moment.

The woman who bore me turned her 'mother face' toward me and gave me the look that once upon a time meant I was going to get my ass kicked. It rarely worked to tame me way back when. It sure as hell doesn't make a difference to me now. I was still laughing so hard I could barely catch my breath. I said "Ma, you can't be taking this seriously" and to the doctor I said "Is the Vulvar Pain Clinic next door to the Left Butt Cheek Pain Clinic and across the hall from the Right Nut Pain Clinic"? That's when my mother started to laugh. The doctor sat there without so much as a grin on his face. Knowing that he was obviously taking vulvar pain and it's many specialists very seriously only made it that much funnier to me. Somewhere in all the laughter, the young doctor slipped out of the room. I never saw him leave. Mom and I managed to gather our wits and with only the occasional giggle, made our way out of the exam room. The nurse sitting at the desk in the hall had been listening to every word and from the looks of her, she had been laughing just as hard as the two of us.

I'm pretty sure that somewhere in there an appointment was made with a Vulvar Pain Specialist. I'll get a phone call telling me the time and date. Be certain that I am taking my camera because I want a picture of the person who went to medical school only to play with a small, fatty area of the vagina. And the most preposterous part of it is, this person makes a living at it. I am guessing there are few malpractice suits. I would think it's hard to kill someone by mishandling her vulva. But of course, I'm no specialist.