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Never having felt so alone and forsaken in my entire life, I dabbed at the tears swimming in my eyes. I was on the verge of that breakdown I kept pushing deeper inside me when the door breezed open and a tall, stately looking gentleman strolled in, eyeing my folder as he said my name. Then he lifted his face and smiled. There was no censure in his eyes, no “you’re way too young to be having sexual relations, young lady” grimace on his face at all. That was almost more traumatic to deal with than if he’d started off with a disapproving lecture.
Lowering himself onto the rolling stool, he sat at eye level with me.
I don’t remember a lot of the conversation we had, but I recall how professional he remained, though clearly he had to deal through the drama brewing between my mother and me.
At one point, he came right out and said, “Grace, you’re clearly upset. I won’t do an exam while you’re in this state.”
For a moment, relief flooded me. I’ve seen movies and TV shows about women in these offices, dressed out in capes with sheets covering their waists and their knees lifted up and spread apart. I so did not want to go down that horrifying road.
Mom, however, wasn’t so reassured. She stepped forward, clearly upset. “But, what if she’s—”
The doctor lifted his hand. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but my patient right now is Grace, and I will only do what is best for Grace.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Here was a complete stranger, defending me against my own mother. Something was seriously wrong with this picture. When had my mom turned from my protector, my provider, the one person I went to when I was in trouble, to the enemy?
“I’ll do it,” I blurted out.
Both the doctor and Mom paused to gape at me.
I nodded, bolstering my courage. “I want to take the exam. I want to prove to her I’m still a virgin. Can I do that?”
The doctor had to have seen the determination and desperation in my gaze because after a moment of holding eye contact, he slowly nodded. “If that’s what you want, we can do an exam.”
So I took my first exam. The movie and television
s shows make it all so funny.
It wasn’t.
Didn’t matter how kind the doctor was, how professional and clinical he remained, it was still the most humiliating moment of my life. I felt invaded and exposed, and I couldn’t even reach out to clasp Mom’s hand for emotional support. I suffered through it alone.
The doctor—I still can’t remember his name—talked in a calm voice the entire time, explaining the procedure, which still didn’t stop me from jumping like a scalded cat when he first touched me there.
I stared at the little dots on the ceiling tiles and tried to pay attention to what he said. I guess he had to test for something called HPV. Whatever it was, it sounded downright nasty, and the younger a girl was when she started having sex, the more likely she was to catch it.
Not that I had to worry.
Afterward, when the doctor confirmed my virginity plus negative results on the pregnancy test, I was too humiliated to even be smug. I changed back into my clothes with so much speed I’m surprised I managed to put everything back on in the correct order.
Back in the waiting room, I bypassed the checkout station where my mom paused to speak to the receptionist and I pushed out the front door, walking swiftly with my head down. The car was locked, so I was forced to stand and stew in the miserable snow until Mom approached and remotely unlocked the doors.
Unable to lift my face in fear I might actually make eye contact with someone, I yanked open the door, slammed it, and pulled on my seatbelt, all before Mom had even opened her door.
She slowly slid inside, sat beside me, and shut her door.
The silence in the car was deafening. She started the engine without a word, without an apology for assuming I’d turned into some kind of hooker, without even a “whew, that was a close call.”
When she still hadn’t spoken as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road, I couldn’t take it any longer.
“Where to now?” I snarled. “The hospital to take a drug test? An AA meeting to stop me from becoming a drunk?”
My mother harrumphed and paused at a red light. “There’s no need to be nasty, Grace.”
My mouth fell open. “No need? No need! Do you realize what you just did to me? Do you even care? I mean, who are you? I don’t even know anymore.”
“Oh, you’re accusing me of changing, are you?” She laughed out a harsh snort. “That’s rich. You’re the one with a new set of friends, going around kissing boys and—”
“I have kissed exactly one boy,” I cut in, yelling. “And I didn’t even like it…something you would’ve known if you bothered to ask me. And honestly, I kind of sort of have to make new friends because you forced me to go to a new school.”
