Beyond the Drape

I had a vaginal exam today. Full on speculum, probe, and all. Ain’t that the greatest, ladies?! Anyway, as it were, I had two male doctors and a steel-eyed medical assistant (woman) as my ‘’support.’’ My main doc, in his late 60’s, told me, “we only have plastic speculums, so it won’t be too cold but it can be extra pinchy.” “Hmm,” I wondered, “have YOU ever had a speculum exam?” Instead I chuckled, ‘’I’m very familiar with speculums, thank you very much!’’ I laughed alone.
 
Now the drape – laying on my back I wondered, “why bother with this postage-stamp sized tissue-paper drape? What’s it covering anyway?” I’ll tell you what – it’s covering my ability to see his hands. Now, don’t get me wrong, he was very pro & I’m not accusing him of anything, but I couldn’t see his hands. Meanwhile, he sees all of me. I don’t know about you, but the only man I don’t mind not watching while he’s working on me, is my lover.  And even then, it can be fun to watch. Point is, it’s out of balance. There’s an illusion of separation because of this silly drape. But amigo, when your fingers are inside of me, there’s no separation.
 
So I’m proposing we take down the drape (if you want to, of course!). That we women acknowledge and deal with the vulnerability of what is going on on the other side of that damn drape, when a health care provider is inside our bodies. I know this is a suuuuper sensitive issue. It has always been for me. I almost didn’t go to this clinic because they only have male doctors. But it turned out to be the only fucking clinic that had what I needed. Damn. Actually, today was the first time in my life that I’ve had a male doctor. So, I get it.
 
And let’s be honest, sometimes women providers are no better. Sometimes they’re worse.
 
Now, I’m a provider too. I’ve done MANY vag exams, inserted speculums, catheters (on men too), the works. I’ve inserted tubing anywhere and everywhere one could. And I’ve got an awesome bedside manner. It’s like breathing for me.
 
I once had an 83-year-old man kiss my hands after I catheterized him.
 
I started attending births and working in hospitals when I was 20. It was a no-brainer to me to treat women, babies, people - with a shit-load of respect. To recognize their vulnerability and touch them with recognition, respect, & kindness; communicating confidence, even when I wasn’t sure how things would go, I was sure I was there, present with them, and they were better off because of it. This is easy for me. And I get that it’s not easy for many.
 
I want to change that. I want to teach people how to find greater ease in touching one another. I want to start a #touchrevolution in the medical field.
 
Join me, won’t you?
 
ps - I wrote this on an airplane this evening. Turns out that the entire time, a lovely 61-year-old Italian gentleman (who spoke very little English) looked over my shoulder reading it. We finally started chatting when he offered me a spot on his tray-table to put my wine (“chatting” = me in very broken Italian via Portuguese and Spanish & he in very broken English via, well, Italian). Turns out he thought I was writing a romance novel J We laughed a LOT.

Vittorio, the Italian man who thought the above narrative was a romance novel