I paid a visit to the gynecologist today. As if I wasn't feeling sheepish enough, sitting there in my sans pants glory and mentally preparing myself for the unpleasantness that was about to besiege my lady bits, she took one look at my file and proceeded to reprimand me for not coming back to see her in nearly four years. Oops.
Before she went to work, I made sure to voice my concerns about possibly having a condition called vaginismus. She listened to my complaint but only asked me one question before she made her decision, which made me question how much store I should put by her prescribed line of action.
"I'm going to send you to the lab to test for herpes."
"Okay."
Wait, what?
"Would...would it have been contracted from someone else...?" I asked dumbly. She nodded.
Well, there must be a mistake. "I've only had one partner, and he's never had any partners except me..." I tried to argue.
But she sent me to the lab anyway. (This ended up inviting many questions from my mother. Why she insisted on coming with me to my appointment is beyond me and, quite frankly, really awkward. The last thing I needed was to come up with an explanation for why I needed my blood drawn while simultaneously trying to hide the implications of the test. You see, my relationship with J isn't exactly out in the open...)
Presently all I can say is, how can this even be? I was as un-promiscuous as college students could come (haha, "come"). Instead of getting some answers, I'm left more confused than ever and for the next three weeks I will be worried (needlessly, I hope) about possibly having contracted an incurable STD.
Isn't that just dandy?
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