“Just let it drop to your waist if you would,” he repeats, rolling back a foot or so from the table’s edge as casually as if he’d just asked me my birthday, or my social security number. I loosen my death grip and feel the gown fall away from my body as if in slow motion, my soft nipples beginning to stiffen and ache.

I really, really hate this part of the breast exam. It always feels to me like a perverse test of endurance, sort of like seeing how long you can tolerate holding an ice cube in your palm.

“Hands on your hips please,” he says, snapping me out of my musings. As I sit in agonizing silence, all I can hear is the theme song from Jeopardy! playing over and over again in my head.

“Now hunch your shoulders forward … uh huh. Okay, bend forward for me Molly,” he asks, staring intently and then rolling over to inspect either side.

“No dimpling or asymmetry here, everything looks good,” he says quietly, almost as though he’s giving dictation. “Alright, now hands above your head like this,” he demonstrates, holding his arms up high toward the ceiling. “Uh huh …” he says quietly, rolling back over to my side. “Now I want you to stretch your arms straight out in front of you like Superman …” he gets up from the stool and moves quickly to the other side of the table to examine me from the other side. “Alright, now keep those arms out and lean forward for me … okay. Very good,” he says. “You can go ahead and cover up now.” He doesn’t need to tell me twice. In an instant I’ve recovered the gown along with what’s left of my dignity.

On his way back to the computer, Dr. Goodman rolls by the door and leans out to say something I can’t hear. A few moments later there’s a light knock on the door and Sarah enters.

“Alright Molly, we’ll take care of the pap and pelvic now. I’ve asked Sarah to step into the room, both to assist me with the pap and also to act as a chaperone. Are you comfortable with that?”

“It’s fine,” I nod quietly. Nothing about any of this is comfortable, but Sarah is a calming presence I’m happy to have in the room.

He walks over to the small sink by the counter as Sarah approaches me with a smile. As he finishes washing, drying, and sanitizing his hands – for probably the fourth time since he entered the room – he approaches me at the side of the table.

“Go ahead and slip out of your underwear if you would .…” I watch as he flexes his long fingers to secure the gloves on his hands. “Any trouble in the past with a speculum or pelvic exam?”

When I don’t answer straightaway he adds, “pain? Bleeding? Anything like that?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Good. Alright then,” he says, taking a seat and gliding over to the foot of the exam table. Between my legs. “Feet in the stirrups please, and shift down for me … keep coming, keep coming, you can come a little further, you won’t fall off, I promise,” he says kindly. Finally he tells me to stop.

“Okay Molly, slow, deep breath in for me. As you exhale, just relax your hips and let your knees fall open as wide as you can.” By some miracle, I feel my hips open up and I’m actually able to spread myself comfortably.

I stare at the ceiling and prepare myself for his touch, my eyes fixed on an air vent. The only evidence that there’s air flowing through it is a slim strand of dust that blows around. I watch, waiting to see if it will detach from the vent, when Dr. Goodman’s voice breaks into my wandering thoughts.

“Molly, if you’d like to see what’s happening, there’s a mirror positioned behind me that can be positioned for you. Would you like to watch?”

In this context, the question strikes me as particularly funny. But … why not? I’ve never been offered a mirror before, though I’ve heard it’s become more of a standard these days.

Why not becomes clear as soon as Sarah positions the mirror and Dr. Goodman flicks on the gooseneck lamp. Suddenly my private little vulva is lit up like Times Square, reflected back to me at relatively close range. Dear God.

“Gentle touch here on your inner thighs first, Molly …” I hear him say it and realize my eyes are closed. I guess that’s usually what I do. I open them up to see his latex-gloved hands positioned between my legs.

“Just doing a brief external exam here first Molly,” he says as I see and feel him gently spread me open and palpate in various locations up and down, finally dipping a finger in first on one side and then the other, to feel the Bartholin’s glands. “Doing okay?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Good. Now … a little cold pressure as I insert the speculum. Just try and relax.”

I watch in fascination as he pulls down slightly to create an opening for the speculum, then skillfully introduces it inside of me without causing any discomfort at all. Then he turns it gently and begins to open me up.

“How’re we doing Molly? Any pain?” I can feel the pressure inside of me as he fully opens and then locks the device, moving the lamp closer to get a good look inside. To my surprise, I realize that watching is actually making me less anxious, rather than more. Even though I can feel what he’s doing, being able to see it at this angle has an almost disembodying effect, like I’m watching someone else’s exam. It’s strange and unexpected, and I’m grateful for the distraction.

“No, I’m fine,” I reply softly.

“Good. You might feel some mild cramping now. I’m about to scrape some cells from your cervix for the pap test,” he says in a quiet, focused voice.

Before long the speculum is removed and he and Sarah busy themselves labeling the specimens and setting them aside for processing after my appointment. Then he stands up and I know what’s coming. I find my dust strand on the ceiling again and, to my surprise, it’s still there, clinging futilely to the vent.

“Okay Molly, I’m going to move on to the pelvic exam now …” He discards his gloves and dons one on his right hand, generously lubricating his fingers. “So … a little pressure on your lower abdomen here …” he says as he palpates deeply with his left hand. “No tenderness here?”

“No,” I reply a little breathily.

“Alright. Are you sure? I felt you tense up a little just then,” he says with concern.

“No, it’s fine. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all,” I say, embarrassed.

“Okay. Take a few slow deep breaths for me again please.” He waits. “That’s it. You’re doing great.”

The breathing always helps if I can get through it without shuddering. He waits a few beats and then advises that he’s going to insert two fingers inside. “Bear down for me, that’s it …”

I don’t need the mirror to see him now, one warm hand on my lower abdomen, the other disappearing under the sheet between my legs, probing inside of me. I wince.

“Sorry about that, that was your right ovary. Touching them can be uncomfortable, but I just need to confirm with you that it wasn’t more than that. A little discomfort is normal. Stabbing pain isn’t.”

“No, no stabbing pain,” I say, again a little breathlessly. “Just very unpleasant.”

He nods in understanding. “Sorry, but I need to feel the other side as well. Take another deep breath for me, and then bear down,” he says quietly. Then, nodding, “That’s it. Good job. Okay.” He withdraws his hands and discards is gloves. “You can sit up now. You did great,” he says, smiling. “Any questions, Molly?”

Have I actually made it through to the end of this God-forsaken physical? I watch as Dr. Goodman takes care of some documentation.

“I don’t think so,” I reply, so relieved to be covered up I can think of little else.

“Okay. Well, we’ll be debriefing on this visit along with reviewing your labs in a bit, so try and write down anything you might want to discuss.” Then, “Sarah, can you please check Molly’s vitals again?”

I have to chuckle, wondering why he thinks they’d be any better now than they were at the beginning. I still feel like an anxious wreck. The only significant difference is that I now have KY lubricant oozing out of me.

Sarah makes quick work of the vitals and reports that they have improved some. She smiles as she collects the specimens for analysis and winks at me as she heads for the door. “You did fine,” she says softly so that only I can hear. Then, more loudly: “Molly, I’m going to step out so you and Dr. Goodman can finish up. I’ll see you up front before you leave, okay?” I nod appreciatively and she exits the room.

As the door clicks shut, I turn my attention to the good doctor, who is busy scrolling through notes on the computer with a furrowed brow. I clear my throat nervously, as I wait for the all clear to go get dressed.

“Molly, has Dr. Simmons performed a rectal exam as part of your annual well woman checks?”

The question rings in my ears like a siren, throwing off my equilibrium and creating a heavy wave of nausea.

What?