My vagina monologue
I really hated my OB/Gyn rotation as a medical student. I thought, nothing good can come of so much estrogen in one place, both flowing from the patients and oozing from the doctors and nurses, all of whom are women except for a notable few. One of the notable few was the chief resident - what the hell was his name? - who was like a bossy important solitary rooster among many clucking hens. He was very handsome, and very aware of that.
I really hated that rotation. I've always found the whole conception/birthing process extremely embarrassing and unjust - and still do, to some degree. I mean, women are at risk for so many things with childbearing, from stretch marks and weight gain to liver toxemia, heart failure and death, for example, and all just for fulfilling their biological purpose! Not to mention, starting at the moment that second pink line appears on the peestick in your hand, you cease to be yourself, becoming instead a factory, a physiological machine, a vessel with tubes, fluids and toxic waste, all to be measured, recorded and charted, for the greater good of the product. I had no acceptance of the "mysticism" of the pathway to motherhood. No magic to it; just biology, and not pleasant biology at that - everything that comes after the moment of conception, that is.
So, seeing laboring women, bored husbands and all sorts of complications... It wasn't good for me. Although, to be fair, when the baby would emerge from a messy playing field, all grey, and slimy, sliding out like some sort of alien, like a shapeshifter, and within seconds turn pink and become a little human being... my mask fogged up invariably, in spite of myself.
My first delivery was traumatic to say the least. The young woman was a Vietnamese primey (primagravida = first baby), which means everything will be more difficult. The husband was in the room, but decidedly uncomfortable with the whole thing, and really, I don't blame him. Asian women have short perineums, I was told. They often get tears. And did she ever! After, what, 3 hours of pushing, the baby fell out into another medical student's trembling embrace; he then retreated unsteadily to the pediatricians, who'd examine and dress the baby, and the rest of us were left to assess and repair the damage.
I'll spare you the details; suffice it to say, I was absolutely traumatized and horrified. I stood there, mouth agape, and I think, I may have involuntarily released some utterance, like "Oh my god..." or some such.
The rooster chief then bestowed upon me the following pearl of wisdom:
"Don't worry. The vagina is a very forgiving organ. It'll be back in business in no time."
Nice, right? It's a vote of confidence for the vagina! I keep repeating that to myself in my head as I do all this fertility crap.
It's actually not as bad as what my attending said to me last week, though. We were reading up on a novel surgical technique, called NOTES, which stands for Natural Orifice something something surgery. You've seen the stories of trans-vaginal appendectomies? That's what it is. He said, "I think transvaginal is the way of the future. All that minimally invasive surgery, gallbladders, appendices, all of that will be done through the vagina." I then told him the above story. His response? Ready?
"Is the vagina really an organ? Isn't an organ solid? Isn't a vagina just an empty space?"
So, now, unlike its very solid (if you're lucky) male counterpart, it's not even an organ, despite all of its various uses, including the novel surgical access point.
Fuck you, asshole. By the way, also an organ AND an empty space.
I really hated that rotation. I've always found the whole conception/birthing process extremely embarrassing and unjust - and still do, to some degree. I mean, women are at risk for so many things with childbearing, from stretch marks and weight gain to liver toxemia, heart failure and death, for example, and all just for fulfilling their biological purpose! Not to mention, starting at the moment that second pink line appears on the peestick in your hand, you cease to be yourself, becoming instead a factory, a physiological machine, a vessel with tubes, fluids and toxic waste, all to be measured, recorded and charted, for the greater good of the product. I had no acceptance of the "mysticism" of the pathway to motherhood. No magic to it; just biology, and not pleasant biology at that - everything that comes after the moment of conception, that is.
So, seeing laboring women, bored husbands and all sorts of complications... It wasn't good for me. Although, to be fair, when the baby would emerge from a messy playing field, all grey, and slimy, sliding out like some sort of alien, like a shapeshifter, and within seconds turn pink and become a little human being... my mask fogged up invariably, in spite of myself.
My first delivery was traumatic to say the least. The young woman was a Vietnamese primey (primagravida = first baby), which means everything will be more difficult. The husband was in the room, but decidedly uncomfortable with the whole thing, and really, I don't blame him. Asian women have short perineums, I was told. They often get tears. And did she ever! After, what, 3 hours of pushing, the baby fell out into another medical student's trembling embrace; he then retreated unsteadily to the pediatricians, who'd examine and dress the baby, and the rest of us were left to assess and repair the damage.
I'll spare you the details; suffice it to say, I was absolutely traumatized and horrified. I stood there, mouth agape, and I think, I may have involuntarily released some utterance, like "Oh my god..." or some such.
The rooster chief then bestowed upon me the following pearl of wisdom:
"Don't worry. The vagina is a very forgiving organ. It'll be back in business in no time."
Nice, right? It's a vote of confidence for the vagina! I keep repeating that to myself in my head as I do all this fertility crap.
It's actually not as bad as what my attending said to me last week, though. We were reading up on a novel surgical technique, called NOTES, which stands for Natural Orifice something something surgery. You've seen the stories of trans-vaginal appendectomies? That's what it is. He said, "I think transvaginal is the way of the future. All that minimally invasive surgery, gallbladders, appendices, all of that will be done through the vagina." I then told him the above story. His response? Ready?
"Is the vagina really an organ? Isn't an organ solid? Isn't a vagina just an empty space?"
So, now, unlike its very solid (if you're lucky) male counterpart, it's not even an organ, despite all of its various uses, including the novel surgical access point.
Fuck you, asshole. By the way, also an organ AND an empty space.
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