The Gyno Appointment
At what age did you take your daughter to her first Gynecological appointment? Asking for a friend.
Last week I sent a text to a dear friend of mine who happens to be a Nurse Practitioner for women’s health. She also has three daughters, so I’m guessing she knows her stuff. Remi was scheduled for an appointment later that afternoon, but I started wondering if maybe I was taking her at too young of an age. So at 8am that morning I texted my friend.
Me: Hey, what age should Remi be for her first gyno appt?
You know those three little dots that you see when someone is texting you back? They showed up on my screen and so I waited. And waited. And waited. I checked our message thread FOUR HOURS later and the little dots were still there. I assumed that I had asked the dumbest question in the world or either, she was about to conduct the appointment right there over the phone.
I had some errands to run that afternoon so we decided that David would pick Remi up early from school and meet me at the Doctor’s office with her. What I did not expect was that he would also pick her up a 12-count nugget meal and a large sweet tea from Chick-Fil-A, as well! Because nothing screams “I’m ready to learn about my lady parts!” like toting around a 12-count nugget and an open packet of Ranch.
David, in an attempt to be sweet, had Remi also bring me a large drink. Please picture, if you will, me trying to fill our paperwork and insurance information while holding a clipboard and a large drink, full to the brim. You might ask yourself why I didn’t just drink the drink down some but that would be because Remi left my straw in the truck. So I just had to carry around a full drink with absolutely no way to drink it.
By the time we filled out our paperwork and were called to the back I was sweating like I stole something. When they had Remi hop up on the scale I found myself standing beside her holding a clipboard, a purse, a full drink, her nuggets, fries and open Ranch packet. I wanted to KILL DAVID RADKE.
As we walked into the room and were told that “the Doctor will be with you shortly,” I saw Remi jump up on the table and pop two nuggets in her mouth. “What are you doing? Do not do that! Have some class. Put your feet down and quit hammering the chicken so fast that you make yourself sick. In fact, put all of your food in my purse and let’s pretend like your dad didn’t do all of this on purpose.” “Mom, he didn’t do this to you on purpose. I told him I was hungry and wanted a snack.” “So he got you a full meal deal? This is ridiculous. Who in their right mind can even eat chicken while staring at a picture of fallopian tubes?”
By the time the Doctor came in I had been able to cram all of into my purse except for the Ranch packet. I was just about to throw it in the trash when she walked in. So yeah, I sat for the next 20 minutes listening to her talk to my daughter about sexually transmitted diseases while I held an open packet of Ranch in my hand. Don’t tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor.
The appointment was fine and we really liked the doctor, but when you take your 15 year old daughter to a gyno appointment they assume it is because you are too embarrassed to talk to her about sex. So, they do it for you! For 20 minutes Remi sat with her mouth open while she heard words like “vaginal,” “secretion,” and “open sores,” thrown around. I had already shared every bit of this with Remi but watching her have to listen to it all over again from a complete stranger felt like justification for leaving my straw in the car.
When we walked out of the appointment I looked at Remi and asked…
“Did you like her?”
“Yes, a lot.”
“Are you happy you came?”
“No, not at all. I already knew most of that stuff!”
“Are you going to have sex?”
“No. I wanted to vomit up my chicken the entire time. Did you know if you have sex you can get open sores?”
“Oh yes, absolutely. Sex is risky. That’s why you need to be absolutely sure before you do it.”
“So you just never know if you are going to have sex and end up with sores or herpes or whatever???? You just have to risk it? NO WAY! Not gonna happen.”
I felt my work here was done.
When I got to the car I looked at my phone. The text from my friend had finally come through: “Sorry, I thought I hit send on this! She doesn’t really need to go until she is 19 or becomes sexually active.”
Y’all! I could have waited? I could have held off on that torture for another four years? What age did you take your daughter? Or what age do you plan to take your daughter? Google told me between 13-15!
I guess this is why Google doesn’t have kids.