Member-only story
The anatomy of a clinic exam room
A table, some chairs, and most importantly, you
With my back against a cold table, my thighs spread open and my feet precariously balanced on what feel like spatulas, I am fully aware of my place in this room. The young Family Medicine doctor leans in toward my knees, brought tightly and awkwardly together by my naked, shivering legs, and he asks me to relax my legs further. This place was not designed to relax. He touches my inner thigh and I twitch. He asks me again to relax. Me, the patient, subject, specimen on a bench. He, the doctor, expert, explorer with a magnifying glass.
He lets out a regretful sigh. Was that for him or for me? I then feel his fingers on my labia and I take a deep breath. The cold gel and plastic speculum tunnel through my vagina. My mind is a crying toddler and I try to take it out of the room. I look straight up at the ceiling, the blank, unconsoling ceiling with small, light stains no one could reach. The fluorescent lights make the cold space feel even colder. There are no windows, and I imagine briefly that I could be in a torture chamber in an undisclosed location in Russia, or a reproductive endocrinology lab in Mexico City, or a refrigerator.
With a few clicks from the speculum he clears his voice, “So, do you live in this area?” Oh my god get out of my vagina.
