The room was cold. It was also small and claustrophobic with no window. I was naked, and shaking, and my nerves were going haywire, and so sleepy I could hardly stay awake, but the only place to lie down was a table. It did not look comfortable but I climbed up on it and waited. What would happen to me?  I didn’t like this.  I saw strange instruments of torture, and a metal sink where they would no doubt wash away the blood after…Oh,  HELP!  

But let me start at the beginning.

I had gotten into an argument with my superior whose word, naturally, was law.  I tried every argument in the book to avoid this encounter, but it was forced upon me.

Slowly opening the door, I was greeted with the sight of grossly misshapen members of the human race.  Their skin was stretched to bursting and oh, the horrible, haggard looks on their faces as they fidgeted in the uncomfortable looking chairs. It seemed as though they had been force-fed and mistreated.  What kind of torture was this?  I was sickened and my skin crawled.  I should not be here.  I didn’t belong here.  I was nervous and jumpy, not knowing what my fate would be.  

Finally, my traumatized brain kicked in and I began to think of a way to make my escape. I would get down on hands and knees, sneak quietly but quickly to the door, beneath the windows of the powers that be.  If anyone tried to stop me, I would bite their leg—without hesitation.

But, as fate would have it, before I could implement my plan, I was plucked from my spot and placed in this room where I am now a prisoner.

Dread is a terrible thing.  It conjures up nightmare visions of unspeakable things causing the mind to approach atrophy.  I’m convinced that a very important part of torture is the waiting—the waiting, which gives time a free hand to wreak havoc with your nerves.  And it works!  My nerves were screaming, “Get Out!  Get out while you can!”  But, of course I couldn’t.

As the minutes ticked slowly by, I began to feel nauseated.  Oh, no! Was I going to be sick?  Right here?  Right now?

The door swung open and a tall man with piercing blue eyes and a white coat quickly took in the situation.  “Now, young lady,” he said, smiling a calming smile, “your mother tells me you’re having some problems.  Let’s have a look, shall we?” 
Right behind him, his “accomplice” in her white uniform, says, “Okay, darlin’, now you just slide on down to the end of the table. A little further…come on, now a little more. That’s right.”
That's when the tall man put on rubber gloves and picked up one of the instruments of torture!

My first visit to an OB/Gyn's office was a terrifying, humiliating experience.  Why would anybody want to be a gynecologist?