No seriously, if you have a vagina and a sense of humor, you will love this post...
Ok, now where was I? Oh yes! A local doula was just talking about a recent experience she had with an OB/Gyn in this area. This is how her story went...
I need to say this because I'm still just flabbergasted. I attended a birth some time ago with an OB who discussed, while this woman was pushing her baby out, how very pleased she would be with his repair work on her bottom. He explained how women have come to him from Madrid and Brazil and New York to have their vaginas "done". I couldn't help it, as I stood there with a look of horror battling with disgust, I just blurted out (in a most un-doula-like moment): "You do designer vaginas?!?"
The nursery nurses in the corner burst into laughter. He looked puzzled for a moment, but when he sorted through the vernacular his visage changed to express the most proud approval and he said with a smile "Yes! I do." That was some time ago. Cut to yesterday. He attended the birth I was at yesterday. Though he did not regale us with further stories of his vaginal reconstruction exploits, he is now proudly wearing embroidery on his doctor's coat: "Ageless Center" (surrounded by a lovely logo) with the words (wait for it..........) COSMETIC GYNECOLOGY (emphasis mine). Your thoughts?So, that got us around to talking about this story which you may or may not have seen on the web awhile ago...
I was due for an appointment with the gynecologist later in the week. Early one morning, I received a call from the doctor's office to tell me that I had been rescheduled for that morning at 9:30 a.m. I had only just packed everyone off to work and school, and it was already around 8:45 a.m. The trip to his office took about 35 minutes, so I didn't have any time to spare.
As most women do, I like to take a little extra effort over hygiene when making such visits, but this time I wasn't going to be able to make the full effort. I rushed upstairs, threw off my pajamas, wet the washcloth that was sitting next to the sink, and gave myself a quick wash in that area to make sure I was at least presentable.
I threw the washcloth in the clothes basket, donned some clothes, hopped in the car and raced to my appointment. I was in the waiting room for only a few minutes when I was called in. Knowing the procedure, as I'm sure you do, I hopped up on the table, looked over at the other side of the room and pretended that I was in Paris or some other place a million miles away.
I was a little surprised when the doctor said, "My, we have made an extra effort this morning, haven't we?" I didn't respond. After the appointment, I heaved a sigh of relief and went home.
The rest of the day was normal. Some shopping, cleaning, cooking.
After school when my 6-year-old daughter was playing, she called out from the bathroom, "Mommy, where's my washcloth?" I told her to get another one from the cupboard. She replied, "No, I need the one that was here by the sink, it had all my glitter and sparkles saved inside it."
Never going back to that doctor. Ever.