Very similar experiences here. Just the word “pediatrician” reminded me of getting shots and my temp taken in my bottom. Up until age 7 or so, the temps didn’t bother me. But from 8 on they became more embarrassing by the year.
The waiting room was full of anxious kids, highlights magazines, a huge fish aquarium and small chairs for kids. I would see kids emerge tears eyes and sucking on lollipops, and hear others get called back and watch as they reluctantly went back with their parents. Then when my turn came I would feel the knots on my stomach and nervously walk back. They would take us directly to a room and instruct me to strip down to my undies. The nurse would then knock, which always seemed so silly to me considering what I knew was coming. The first step was the march down the hall to get weighed and measured in nothing but my white briefs. Other kids would inevitably be around. It was here I first saw girls in colored panties with patterns on them going through the same treatment.
Then after being weighed it was back to the room. Some rooms had sliding pocket doors, and those were almost never closed all the way. Others had regular doors that usually got closed. Then it was hop up on the table for blood pressure and pulse. The smell of alcohol permeated the air, and on the counter were 4 jars, cotton balls, tongue depressors, red thermometers and blue thermometers. Once the cuff was ripped off my arm the nurse would give the dreaded command to slide my undies down and lie on my tummy. So much for knocking… time to show my butt to the room and sometimes the passing hallway traffic as well. I would slowly roll over and push my undies down and watch as the nurse pulled out a red thermometer, shook it down, and applied the clear lube gel to the tip. Then she would spin around and spread my bottom and poke it in, cold and greasy. Time would slow to a crawl, and I would usually be told I was a good boy, and to be still, etc. As others have stated, you never knew if the door would open and someone would barge in. It happened to me twice. If it did, forget the door being closed. It was as if the need for privacy totally vanished at that point.
After the thermometer was taken out I would be told I was done and the doctor would be in shortly. I would try to wrestle my undies up without showing my front to everyone. The doctor would come in and examine me, and usually order a shot. There was a doorbell buzzer next to the door he would ring the number of times of the room.
Eventually the nurse would reappear with a tray holding a shot. Down with my undies again, and face forward, this is going to sting. Then I would feel the sting of the needle. I would scream and cry as a small child but the nurse taught me not to clench my butt cheeks one time, and then my shots quit hurting so bad. Then I would get a sucker for being “brave” and would be allowed to get dressed. As I walked out, of course I knew that all the other kids knew… that I just had a thermometer and a shot in my butt.