A Visit To My OB/GYN Five Years From Now
It’s hard to believe there was ever a time when a woman could just go to the doctor without finding an adult male to vouch for her. My neighbor is usually around, so he said he’d call the office and tell them I wasn’t a “woman of low moral values”.
He seemed a little smug about it for somebody who hasn’t had a job in ten years because he doesn’t want to pay child support.
The doctor’s office didn’t have an actual door, just a TRUMP 2032 flag draped across the opening.
The medical assistant handed me my robe, my giant paper lap napkin, and a Trump mask to wear because “it makes the doctor feel all tingly.”
I put it on because it’s almost impossible to find an OB/GYN in New York these days. Everybody’s a celebrity surgeon slash politician now like Senator Oz. I miss my old gynecologist, who was a woman, but of course women aren’t allowed to be doctors anymore.
I hear she’s teaching third graders for $20,000 a year and one of them brought an AR-15 automatic rifle to school in his SpongeBob backpack.
Then the medical assistant handed me a pen and a pad of paper so I could draw a picture of what I thought was going on with my reproductive organs and then show it to the doctor. They still make you undress as a power move, but they don’t actually do pelvic exams anymore since female genitalia are “unclean”.
I also mentioned that I thought I might have a hemorrhoid because there had been some pain and blood. The medical assistant said it was probably just anxiety.
When the doctor finally came in 45 minutes later in a golf cart, he frowned and asked if I had done anything to try to “lose” the hemorrhoid, like jumping jacks, getting punched in the stomach, or throwing myself down a flight of stairs.
I said I had never heard of that being a cure for hemorrhoids, but no, I hadn’t done any of those things.
The doctor asked me who the father of…