in which I lose the rest of my dignity

If you know me in real life, or are squeamish about too many personal details, you may want to click AWAY NOW. This little story is chock full of embarrassing and TMI moments.

So.

I went in today to be fitted for a diaphragm. That's right, click click click away.

I hate hormonal birth control, and I didn't want to try a copper IUD since I want another baby in the relatively near future. We've traditionally used condoms, but (a) that didn't work out perfectly for us as a method of birth control last March, and (b) now that we've had sex without condoms, it's hard to go back. So, my OB and I went through the options and settled on a diaphragm as the best choice for me. It is easy, effective (according to my OB, 97-98% effective when used correctly), and non-hormonal.

I got called into the exam room and stripped from the waist down and attempted to cover myself with the tiny paper sheet, which is a joke, but that is a conversation for another day. I had Josie with me in her bucket seat and I was trying to keep her entertained while also keeping myself somewhat covered. Anyway, the OB comes in, explains the whole process and we get started.

First she sized it by putting it in and removing it, and then she handed it to me and told me to put it in myself and said she would check to make sure I did it right. Then she leaned against the counter and looked at me expectantly. As in, she wanted me to put it in RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER. She pushed the stool over to me and started describing how I was supposed to do it, and I swear to you, I almost died right then and there.

What could I do, though? She was standing there, nodding at me, so I did. To make matters worse, I couldn't get it in, so I had to stand there, basically buck naked, and keep trying to get it in, becoming increasingly flustered and the whole process was incredibly painful and she just kept encouraging me and giving me tips on how to get it in. Finally, THANK YOU GOD, I got it in. She checked and it was in correctly, so she told me to take it out now. AGAIN, RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER.

I am a pretty modest person. I didn't wear a bikini until college. I never wear revealing clothing, much to the chagrin of my law school girlfriends and my husband. I'd never worn anything remotely low cut until I was pregnant with Gabe and acquired The Rack and still, those low cut shirts are not even that low cut and there aren't many of them. I'm not a prude, but I'm also not flashing parts of my body publicly. Having to practice all of this in front of her was BEYOND MORTIFYING.

Anyway, I did finally get it out, after many attempts, lots of pain, and buckets of cringing. To my OB's credit, she acted like this was all perfectly normal and not strange at all. Clearly, she has been down there numerous times, but even during labor, I never stood around naked in front of her or anyone else. For goodness sake, I kept my underwear on for most of both of my labors until we were close to the end. I'm telling you, I really am pretty modest. I have cellulite I need to keep hidden, people!

I survived, though, with diaphragm prescription in hand, orders to practice putting it in and taking it out at home, and Josh owes me. He owes me BIG. I am going to spend the rest of this psychologically traumatizing day stuffing cookies into my pie hole. Maybe I'll make him bring cupcakes home tonight.