My ER Doctor Had Clearly Never Seen A Vagina, Dropped The Speculum, And Asked For Directions

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Once Ivan was up and running with a wand in my vagina, everyone looked at the screen, except for Jordan, who politely turned away because he “didn’t want to invade my privacy.” Bless him. As it turned out, my ovaries sort of looked like the low-res pictures the Mars Rover sent back from the Red planet’s craggy surface. Ivan gave me a tour of my reproductive system, including “that’s where the baby goes.” Then Ivan paused on my right ovary and pointed to a weird little spot on the screen.

“You see this?” Ivan muttered something in his native Ukrainian and pressed a lot of buttons. Nobody will tell me what the hell is going on. I must have cancer. I was whisked back to my cubicle in the ER and told to wait for Dr. Rick. No part of my lower body was left unexposed.

Dr. Rick was the type of man who busts through every door and strikes a sort of “I’m here!” pose. I heard his bouncy footsteps before he swooshed back the curtain, cocked his hip, and told me I have had an ovarian cyst that ruptured. It turns out that this is extremely routine and common in women my age, and heals on its own.

This was hugely anti-climatic but a huge relief. Dr. Rick walked back over to my bedside and squatted again, but at least this time looked me in the eye. He informed me that ruptures like this can be caused by a number of reasons, including biking and horseback riding. He lowered his voice conspiratorially and added,
“Also, a rupture like this can be brought on by very vigorous sexual intercourse.” Then, I swear to God, he looked over at Jordan and winked. I could see that Dr. Rick was desperately holding himself back from high-fiving Jordan, who I must admit looked both horrified and slightly proud, in spite of himself.

A few years have passed since my “ovarian explosion,” as we are prone to calling it, and some details are hazy to me now. What I remember most is Jordan staying calm the whole time, and knowing how to handle a crisis. Recently, we googled what an ovarian cyst looks like (do not do this). I was sufficiently grossed out but not entirely surprised, but Jordan was oddly speechless. I asked him what he was expecting, and he said,
“I don’t know, I kind of pictured it like a mushroom cloud.”
“My ovary?”
“No, when the cyst exploded.”
“You thought you created a mushroom cloud-type explosion in my reproductive system?”
“Yes.” The man of my dreams. At the very least, he can always be counted on to find my vagina.

Photo: Shutterstock, Blingee

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