As a woman in her ’30s, I thought I knew pretty much all there was to know about my body. If you had asked me, I would have sworn I was well-informed. And then I started going to a new gynecologist and she literally blew my mind when she told I’d been checking my breasts all wrong. What? How had I missed this? I knew about the circular check but not the up-and-down pattern. Well, maybe because the last time I learned about breast self-examination was from a pamphlet I got in high school. That was a while ago. After the jump, I asked other women about the most surprising things they learned from their gynos. Keep reading »
Your annual visit to the lady doctor isn’t necessarily the most pleasant way to spend an afternoon. Between the poking, prodding and your casual evasion of pointed questions like “How many drinks do you have a week?”, going to the the gynecologist is a necessary but not entirely awesome experience. I usually leave the gynecologist with a list of unanswered questions, and I always resolve this situation by taking to Google with a glass of wine, self-diagnosing through the mess of Yahoo! Answers forums and WebMD. It goes without saying that this never really works out for the best. This time, we’ve decided to do the work for you! We consulted the best of the best on the Internet to come up with answers to all those burning questions that feel a little too personal to ask your doctor. Keep reading »
I didn’t think I was ashamed of the number of sexual partners I’ve had in the 20 years I’ve been getting it on until I found myself filling in a number half the true total at a recent gynecologist appointment. Although I know doctors are trained not to judge, and this doctor in particular had been particularly kind, helpful and professional when I’d seen her previously, in my head, all of a sudden the number (at best an approximation as I haven’t kept an exact count in year) seemed like cause for alarm. Even if I never had to say it out loud and its size was simply one more piece of data for her to use in evaluating me, something about it made me erase what I’d typed in the online form and halve it. As it turned out, she didn’t even ask me a single thing about my number, so that fretting was for naught—except that it taught me a lesson: slut shaming isn’t just something other people do to us, but something we can do to ourselves. Keep reading »
Important news about your vagina: the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists says that instead of annual Pap smears, you can now get screened for cervical cancer every three years. ACOG has actually been saying for awhile that women don’t need annual Pap smears, but this recommendation was finally put in writing yesterday by the United States Preventative Task Force and the American Cancer Society.
So, why have the recommendations changed? Keep reading »
I have a new gynecologist. Let’s call her Bev. She’s a mid-wife so she’s not actually a doctor, but I am already more impressed with her than any other lady doctor that I’ve ever had. That’s because while she was down there, collecting cell samples from my ladyflower, she offered to show me my cervix. And I was like, “Uh, okay. Why not?” No other doctor had ever offered and I had never asked, but in that moment, as Bev handed me the world’s longest armed mirror, I was like, Fuck yeah, I am about to meet my cervix for the very first time. Keep reading »
The last time I spread my legs for a doctor (and no, I haven’t slept with anyone in scrubs), Lindsay Lohan was a law-abiding citizen. Somehow, I had managed to put off my visit to the friendly gyno longer than I cared to admit. A close friend’s recent alarming diagnosis post-gyno visit had fueled me into action. Oh, and my medical insurance suddenly had an expiration date. I’d just been laid off from a job I’d held down for the last six years, the lease on my New York City apartment was about to end, along with the dollars in my bank account. I was, in what you might call, a very large pickle. Keep reading »