A few years ago, I was having some issues with irregular periods and had to have my first pelvic exam. It was something I had avoided for a long time, because even the idea of it put me in a panic. My mom suggested I go to her gynecologist, and I agreed, largely because she was a woman and I refused to do it with a male doctor.

So, the day of the appointment finally came and I was a nervous wreck over it, actually nearly throwing up at times. But I went and met with a nurse first, and she put me a tiny bit more at ease.

But not for long. I was taken into the exam room and handed a “gown” to change into. I was told to have it open in the front, but it didn’t even come close to fitting me, so I was practically naked. If I pulled it as tight as I could around me, there were still at least six inches of skin uncovered across my chest, stomach, and lap. Then, the doctor didn’t come in for over half an hour, and at that point I was crying out of anxiety. When she finally came in, she asked if a student shadowing her could sit in, and I’m glad now I said yes.

The doctor began by rather aggressively checking my breasts while she started singing the opening lines to the song Do-Re-Mi from The Sound of Music, “Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.” She explained by telling me she had a two-year-old grandson who could only be calmed down by The Sound of Music when he was worked up, and she thought maybe it would help me, too. I was speechless.

I’m not sure why she thought it was a good idea to compare a grown woman having an anxiety attack to a tantrum-throwing toddler, but I’m still offended. The rest of the exam was relatively uneventful, with the student talking to me and holding my hand through much of it. I’ve promised myself that I will not let this experience scare me away from potentially necessary medical care in the future. But The Sound of Music is completely ruined for me forever.

(At the age of 19 my mother decides it is time for me to get my first pap smear and checkup with a gynecologist. My appointment starts out normally; the nurse is very nice and explains what will happen, before leaving me alone to change into a gown. I settle myself on the table before the doctor comes in. He is an older man in his late 50s, rather heavy set, and with a bulbous nose.)

Ob/Gyn: “Good morning! So, what brings you in today?”

Me: “I recently turned 19, and my mother suggested it was time for me to get my first pap smear, since I am sexually active.”

Ob/Gyn: “Your mom is silly to worry about that. You really shouldn’t be here before you’re 23.”

Me: *remains silent as the doctor explains the procedure again*

Ob/Gyn: “So, are you a student? What are you studying?”

Me: *not wanting to explain my complex writing major* “Oh, I’m majoring in English.”

Ob/Gyn: “So, what are you going to do with that other than be unemployed?” *chuckles* “Serve burgers?”

(The rest of my appointment was spent in stony silence while the doctor began an already nerve-wracking and intimate procedure.)

(I’ve been having awful pains for months now. I keep bringing it up to my family doctor, who passes it off as period cramps, as I’m a twenty-something female. I finally talk him into looking into it more, and he says it might be a kidney stone. I get referred to a urologist, all while being told, “I still think it’s period cramps.” I go in for my first visit after taking an x-ray.)

New Doctor: “Okay, so, where is your pain at?”

Me: “It’s mostly on my right side, a little bit higher up.”

(He looks at where I’m pointing, then at some paperwork. He shuffles through it a bit.)

New Doctor: “Okay, yeah. You have a kidney stone. It’s a good-sized one, too. We’re going to get some more images of it to confirm size and position before we talk about how to deal with it. Any questions about that?”

Me: “I… don’t think so. You’re sure it’s a kidney stone?”

New Doctor: “Unless you have a frozen pea in your urinary tract, it’s a stone.”

(I ended up having surgery, and passed it all with no problem. My family doctor never blamed pain on period cramps again.)

(I’ve just had my first child. I went into labor at night and he was born just after midnight. My boyfriend manages to get the next morning off, but as he’s the assistant manager of a dock, he has to go in the next afternoon. I’m not worried, as there’s not much concern for me or my son. The next day, my OBGYN comes in.)

Doctor: “Hey, [My Name], how are you feeling?”

Me: “Still sore. Is everything all right?”

Doctor: “Oh, yeah. I just want to let you know that a nurse wanted me to call Child Protection Services for you.”

(I freak out a bit, but he laughs.)

Doctor: “Don’t worry; I won’t. Apparently, because of your boyfriend having to go to work, she didn’t think you guys were capable of taking care of your son. It’s pretty stupid.”

(I relaxed after that. My son came home a day later and, with some help from friends, we had no problems with taking care of him.)

(I have a bad flu that doesn’t get better for two weeks, resulting in me coughing out bloody phlegm. I go to the hospital to get a checkup to see if anything is really wrong. When I get called into the clinic, the doctor, probably in his 50s or so, asks me about my sickness. He has this really smug look on his face, and I don’t think much about it until I start telling him about my symptoms. When I tell him that my illness began two weeks ago, he gets pissed off. He throws a calendar at me:)

Doctor: “Don’t tell me when; tell me the exact date. Point it out on the calendar.”

(I am dazed and try to recall the exact date I got sick. Meanwhile, he is mumbling about how youngsters have a worse memory than he does. I get pissed off, as well, from his attitude. I slam the calendar onto the table and point at the date. It isn’t the exact date but somewhere there. I take a wild guess.)

Doctor: “I suspect that you may have tuberculosis, but it’s still too early to get an x-ray because it wouldn’t show up. So, you may or may not have it. I don’t know.”

(After that, he had the d*** nerve to say I didn’t respect him, for slamming the calendar on the table. He prescribed antibiotics and I got better. Thank heavens I didn’t have to go back and see him.)