The Gynecologist Visit

In Ontario, once I reached a certain age, I was placed on the provincial government’s “Screened for Life” tracking system for annual cervical cancer testing.  I know I should keep up with the tests, so I booked an appointment at the ob/gyn office, conveniently located around the corner from our house in Bucerias.
Doctor: Buenos dias, Kelly.  Welcome.
Kelly:  Gracias, Doctor.
Doctor:  I have a few questions to commence your file before we take the sample, OK?
Kelly:  OK, sure.
We went through some preliminary questions; my date of birth; how many full term pregnancies;  date of last screening. Although his accent was difficult to decipher, (all those words with a “v” that come out like a soft “b”), I was grateful to visit an English speaking doctor, and we established a fairly comfortable rapport despite the topic.  Some of the questions were progressively more difficult to understand as we got into technical data. I was happy to finally have an easy answer to an easy question…
Doctor:  Kelly, when did you last have relations?
Kelly:  Well, my parents and sister visited last week, which was nice.  We hadn’t seen them since March.
Doctor:  Oh. OK, we’re ready to move to the examination room.  Please remove your clothing from the waist down and put this gown on.
I enter the tiny washroom/change room, disrobe and don the gown, then enter the tiny exam room.  I get on the bed, place my feet in the stirrups and assume the position. Giddy Up! The doctor drags over a lamp that emits retina-burning light and has a look.  Isn’t it funny how they try to relax you by making small talk while they’re poking around at eye level to your bottom? I’m very warm. I’m not sure if I mentioned, but the room is tiny.  The gown now makes a second layer of clothing, and I’m quite anxious about what’s going on, down there. I’m sweating to beat the band. Wiping my face; blowing on my eyeglasses to dispel the fog; breathing shallow.  Similar to being in labour. Finally, the test part is over, or at least the nastiest portion. Now onto a blood pressure check and manual examination.
Doctor, stethoscope moving from place to place over my chest:  Kelly, do you have a heart?
I swear that’s what he said.  I thought he was having trouble finding my heart beat – a little disconcerting, especially since I know it’s there – I’ve heard it beating in my ears like a bass drum for the last eight minutes.  I tried to lighten the moment when my heart can’t be found and said, “It’s very deep down and rather cold, but yes, I have a heart.” The doctor looks down at me, a bit perplexed, and clarifies. “No, I said, are you hot?”  Well, ya, doc, I’m a little sweaty. This ain’t exactly a day at the spa. After determining my blood pressure is high, (no kidding), he finishes with the stethoscope and searches for any uterus pain by hand. A little to the right, a little to the left, uppish, downish, inny, outty.  Good grief, enough already!
Doctor:  any pain here?  Here? Here?
Kelly: no, no and no
Doctor:  OK, the final question.  An important one. Do you have any pain in your baheena?
What?  What the heck is my baheena?  I’m a bit panicked. I don’t have pain anywhere, but maybe I just never thought of my baheena.  Perhaps I’ve overlooked my baheena my whole life? I’ve never even heard any girlfriends talk about theirs?!?
I dig deep to bring myself back to Grade 9 sex education class.  In a startling revelation I realize what he’s said. I feel a little hysterical, giddy with embarrassment, flushed with heat.  I collect myself.
Kelly:  thanks for asking, my vagina is just fine.