band-aids and gynecologists

This post is rated PG-21.

I like to think I am a tough girl. I have a high pain tolerance and try not to whine about the little things. So last week, when I sliced my finger in the kitchen and asked my husband to help me, he laughed. And then I started crying, the kind with tears and snot and such. Aaron quickly realized that I was seriously hurt and rushed to my aid. I sliced my middle finger on the tinfoil box and it was deep, almost to the bone. While searching the house for the new box of band-aids I had just purchased, I realized that a few days prior they had been discovered by a certain 4 year old and his baby accomplice (who was suffering from a bad case of sore nipples).
Aaron helped me wrap my sliced finger with toilet paper and a big piece of gray duct-tape. Later that night we went on a romantic date down the band-aid isle of Walmart. Thanks to those wonderful band-aids, my finger is looking much prettier.
Last night I went to bed early (8 PM) because I was feeling an oncoming bladder infection. I woke up at 2, 4 & 6 AM to pee. I have only had one other bladder infection in my life and it was the worst.thing.that.has.ever.happened.to.me. I didn't want to go through that again anytime soon, so this morning, I made a doctor's appointment to get a script just in case it gets worse. I am not the type to run to the doctor for just anything (dude, I had a baby in my bedroom) but I figured it's been a year since my last pap-smear, so why not kill two birds with one stone?
I was able to make a same-day appointment with an OBGYN 3 miles from my house. Score. It was a male doctor who spoke English, but not clearly. (apparently, it's the only kind of doctor in Vegas.) The first 10 minutes of our appointment, he told me about the ways I can ENSURE a daughter for next pregnancy.I liked him immediately, but had to watch his lips closely to understand him. During the pap-smear, I couldn't see his face and had a really hard time comprehending what he was saying. (ps. doctors shouldn't talk while giving paps.) While I was laying there, I swore he kept saying he was going to get a "bowl of this" and a "bowl of that". After he was finished, he said it again, "a bowl of..." and I finally had to ask, "I'm sorry, a bowl of WHAT?" He laughed and said, "Not a bowl of anything. I am saying VULVA with the letter V." Righteo-- a vulva is the proper term for a girl part. I learned that on Oprah. (Dr. Berman recommends a DVD called Viva la Vulva... I am about to put that on hold at the library!) I walked out of there with a prescription and a smile on my face.
Do you have issues with going to male gynecologists? I do not. My most awkward pap-smear EVER was with a female. Want to hear the story? Maybe you can clear things up for me... because I am still rather confused.
The year was 2004. Aaron started his first semester of law school in Spokane. We had been there about two weeks when I realized my birth control was almost out. I needed a new prescription soon, but our insurance hadn't kicked in yet. And I was NOT about to have a baby his first year of law school. So, I decided to head to Planned Parenthood. No insurance necessary, cheap visits, quick prescriptions... no questions asked. I made an appointment and saw a female doctor. She looked at my charts and said, "Wow. Twenty-five years old and two kids! I hope you're done!" I told her that I wasn't done, but would like a little break while my husband attended school. She then said, "Well, if you ever change your mind, there are simple solutions." Thanks, lady, but I'd like to keep my uterus. After the exam, she gave me my prescription, a bag full of condoms and a tube of lubricant gel. She said very enthusiastically, "I don't give this gel to everyone. We have a hard time keeping it in stock." I told her thanks and she continued, "Oh, this is the best lubricant I've ever come across. It has a fabulous flavor. Let me tell you, my ferrets just love it."
It's been almost 7 years since that appointment, and I still can't wrap my perverted mind around her comment. If her ferrets did, in fact, love that particular lubricant, why did she feel so inclined to tell me? Needless to say, I didn't go back. Because the lubricant was mediocre.