Let’s be honest here. Getting a Pap smear is no one’s idea of a good time. There are a lot of items on my list of preferred activities that rate well above getting escargot tongs stuck all the way up my hall of fame.
Shamefully, I put mine off for several years, not because I’m all that shy or, you know, have any sense of modesty at all, but of a terrible experience I had a few years ago at the Lady Doc.
I was all scooched down, feet in the stirrups like any good Texas girl and making as pleasant conversation as I could with this stranger in a lab coat about root around my nethers like a truffle pig with an air horn. She got down to business and when she was what felt like armpit deep in my lady garden, apparently trying to remove my tonsils from the inside, she decided THEN was the perfect time to lecture me about the perils of Teh Fatz.
Now, I’m not really all that sensitive about my size. Aside from a bit of auto-immune wonkiness I’m as healthy as an entire team of really healthy horses. My blood pressure, sugar levels, cholesterol…everything is great because although I’m fat, I’m in pretty damn fine fettle, but I got so mad at this woman, and was so humiliated that not only did I not go back to HER, I didn’t go back to ANYONE for fear of getting the same traumatic treatment.
Fast forward five years.
Before moving to Mexico, I knew I ought to get a complete physical and all the stabs and jabs I need to prevent me from getting the dreaded crud while living it up south of the border and while I was at it, I should probably get the south of MY border checked out as well. I asked my beloved and awesome in every conceivable way GP’s office for a recommendation.
I explained to them what had happened before –and okay, it was a little embarrassing, but it was easier on the phone– and they were gratifyingly aghast. Turns out my GP was able to do it for me, and when it came time to do the oh-so-familiar Scooch and Spread, the three of us in the room literally laughed the whole time.
The moral of the story is the same one that circulates all over the fatosphere: You are entitled to respectful medical care. Yes, even though you’re fat, you’re still a human and are entitled to be treated with human decency.
If it’s been a while since you’ve had your clam jammed by a medical professional, do yourself a favor and make the appointment. Explain –hell, you can even steal my story– how you don’t want to be lectured about your size. If you joke around it’s a little easier, but don’t let the Fat Shamers win. It’s your body and your health. Take care if it, and take care of yourself.
