Open Wide....Now Tell Me Your Life's Story

On Thursday last week I went for a follow-up appointment with my doctor. For those who missed my post about my first awkward visit to my doctor, that post can be found here. Once again he enquired about my well-being before taking me to an examination room and ordering me to drop my pants. It was no less awkward having another man fondle my genitals than the previous time, but at least this time he decided a sonar wasn't required so I wasn't exposed to the discomfort of having my man-bits lubed up again. And, as before, he looked me dead in the eye while handling my family jewels to see if there was any discomfort. I am just extremely grateful that he did not resort to small talk while fondling me! But that got me thinking. On my last visit to the dentist it was quite a different story. For some reason a dentist firmly believes in engaging in some light conversation while busy in your mouth. I normally wouldn't mind this, as I can grunt in agreement if the topic calls for it. But it gets quite weird when he asks you a question. And then looks at you expectantly while you decide how to answer someone who has various pieces of dental equipment, both hands and a little suction pipe for excess saliva in your mouth!

This has often baffled me! How does he want me to answer? Telepathically? Using hand signals? Do I need to wag my tongue in Morse code? Another time the dentist required me to swallow, also while I had a myriad of metal implements and gloved human fingers in my mouth. Now I am one of those people who can't swallow with my mouth open. Trying to communicate this to my dentist was pointless, as he couldn't understand what I was grunting. He just kept telling me to swallow, so I did, biting him in the process. Needless to say he was quite upset about that! After extracting his bruised fingers and various bits of steel, he angrily demanded an explanation. After I explained the situation he carried on working, but conversation was dialled down to a minimum lest I try to answer him and he loses a finger.

After my experience with the chatty dentist and my thankfully silent (but still awkward) experience with my urologist, I have developed a deep sympathy for all women out there who have to deal with extremely talkative gynaecologists. I can just imagine the awkwardness of having to chat to him/her about your weekend or career while having your lady-bits touched and probed. Ladies, I finally understand your pain!