Once a year women dread that day. They see it coming on a calendar and cringe in horror as it approaches. We don't talk about it without cringing, nor do we believe others when they tell us it's no big deal. This was my day; the day I had to see the gynecologist.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Are all women masochists? You'd think we were if you'd ever watched someone get a bikini wax. But no, we do it because we know that too many women die of cervical and ovarian cancer per year, and if diagnosed earlier there is a much greater chance of survival. So I go, even if I have to grind my teeth into nothing.

I signed in like all the other lambs to the slaughter. I had a coffee stain on my shirt and a smile more plastic than Barbie's. Of course as the receptionist looked at me I felt the need to explain that it was coffee I spilled on me just this morning. Why do I do that? She didn't care. Was I just trying to make it sound like I didn't normally walk around with an enormous stain on my shirt? As soon as I made the stain I knew my entire day would follow the same path my poor shirt did. Oh goodie.

The waiting room was like every doctor's waiting room. I was beginning to think they all just order the same room from some catalog. I picked up a Highlights magazine and pretend to be interested in finding the twelve household items hidden in a tree. It's an unwritten law that you're not to make eye contact with any other patients, thus keeping the room quieter than an empty library on the North Pole in the dead of winter.

Finally, I heard my name called and for a moment I felt like I'd won a sweepstakes. After all, I'd only been sitting there waiting for half a life time and twenty-seven issues of backdated People Magazines.

I got up and followed the overly cheery nurse with too much caffeine running though her veins. Apparently her name was Heather. I had to bite my tongue to keep the 101 smartass comments I had fluttering through my head to myself. She told me to have a seat and get comfortable, or at least that's what I thought she said. It was hard to tell with all that perkiness bombarding me. She smiled and giggled on her way out. I couldn't believe she giggled. If anything, that should be outlawed in this type of situation.

Before I had the chance to attempt to get comfortable or nab any of the cotton swabs on the counter, she was back. If I was annoyed with her before I was kidding myself with such a diminutive emotion. The task that brought her sunshiny happiness back into my life - the weights and measures portion of the horror show. Here's where your dignity starts to head south for the winter. They parade you out of the room that they put you in for no reason at all, towards the center of the office and a huge scale. I don't know why but when I step on that thing and hear the clang of the weights being adjusted I still cringe. If I wasn't so busy trying to make myself seem taller I would have been be thoroughly piqued that Nurse Perky announced my weight for all to hear. So much for discretion.

After I bit back every horrible word I wanted to say to Peppy La Perky I headed back to the room. She again told me to make myself comfortable. Why were they always so concerned with my comfort? If they really cared about that there'd be a nice buffet and an open bar. Instead all I had were some devices that worried me and a strange smell that was a little too sterile. With a bounce in her step and another giggle she shut the door.

I was left to wonder how I was supposed to get comfortable when I had to change into half of a paper napkin. It took me a few moments just to figure out how the thing would be tied on. Oh yes, I was getting comfortable. With one hand desperately clutching the back of the gown to keep it closed I peered around the exam room or as I like to call it, the chamber of horrors. It was a typical exam room by all accounts.

Maybe I'm a lunatic, or just completely paranoid, but I couldn't help wondering if some of the equipment couldn't possibly be a small camera. Maybe the draft my backside was catching made me excessively jumpy, but I really did expect that in three days time there would be pictures of my unmentionables splashed across a few not so tasteful websites.

Trying hard not to look through the drawers or tinker with the light they use to look into ears, I waited. I waited still. And then, I waited some more. Eventually, just as time was starting to reverse itself, the door opened.

It always amazes me how an older gentleman could ask you to hop into what resembled a medieval torture chamber all while smiling like it was something as commonplace as brushing your teeth. Not to mention the fact that he seemed perfectly able to continue with the idle chit chat while all I could see were his eyes and the top of his head. That wasn't the moment I wanted to think about the rain that had been forecast that morning. And I really didn't want to talk politics. It was rather disconcerting to have the man talking about the candidates while 'down there' and referring to them by their last name as if they were prize fighters.

He told me not to worry that I might feel something cool. What in the world was this man's definition of cool? He might as well have dipped his instruments in liquid nitrogen. While looking at just the top of his face, I fought the urge to kick him in the head. Believe me, I showed a lot of restraint. However, as soon as he told me I might feel some discomfort I almost lost my battle not to injure him. You mean I wasn't already? All I could think about was getting out of there and home. I didn't much care what the rest of my night would entail as long as it didn't involve stirrups.

At some point I allowed my mind to wander. I had no choice because I really didn't want to think about the fact that this man had gotten farther with me than my high school prom date. His voice drifted away as I started running through what I was going to have to do that day. I had the day off, but what that really meant was, it was jam packed with other crap that had to get done. I'd managed to get most of it accomplished before the doctor's appointment. I knew by the time I was done with that I wouldn't be interested in going to the bank or jockeying with thirty-seven other people for the fastest line at the grocery store.

The only thing left for me would be a quick stop at my parents' house. I don't think I'll ever get used to calling it dad's house. I'm thirty-four years old and it will always be my parents' house. It won't matter how long my mom has been gone, she's still there. Dad asked me to come over to do a few things around the house. I knew it was just an excuse; he just wanted to see me. I really didn't mind going along with his pretense. If it made it easier on him to request my company under the guise of needing me to rearrange the soup cans alphabetically, then who was I to argue?

My mind was sharply brought back to the task at hand as the doctor began yet another exam. If you can believe it, he was whistling while he was working. Add that to the things that should be outlawed. I closed my eyes once more and tried to get my thoughts back in order. Where was I? Oh, right. My dad.

I couldn't really blame him for wanting to see me; I had been rather busy lately. Finally I was at a job I didn't detest and my love life had made a complete turn around. That alone was the hardest for me to get used to. For so long I had been resigned to being alone. I thought I would always be the single friend who added the odd wheel to just about any group outing. I almost wanted to pinch myself... Thankfully the doctor was taking care of any need I had for a pinching sensation.

I just wanted to go home.

Just as I was about to start into a serious pout I heard the telltale sound of the doctor taking off his gloves. I wanted to get up and do a victory dance, but the missing back to the gown put an end to that urge rather quickly. The man I had known for years, but still couldn't seem to completely look in the eyes smiled at me and started writing in my chart.

"Everything looks good that I can see...," he began. He went on to tell me when the tests would be back and when to call his office. I was only half listening and daydreaming about putting my clothes back on.

"So Kate, do you have any questions for me?" he asked looking up at me in that 'I'm trying to look interested but I'm really thinking of my golf game' doctor look.

"Not at the moment, no," I answered. Sometimes I felt like making up a question just so I appeared more vigilant about my health.

"Okay, well I think I'll want to see you again in a year at the very latest. With your family history it's really important to have regular exams..." And he was off with a speech I had heard a hundred times.

There was no way I could forget the importance of an exam. After losing my mom to ovarian cancer there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think about her or the disease that took her from us far too early. That was yet another reason these exams were so difficult for me, apart from the obvious reasons. Each and every time I go I spend the night before thinking of mom and the possibility that one day I might receive a life changing call from a doctor too.

Four years she had been gone. Four years of my dad's phone calls to do some random chore at the house. And four years since my brother stepped foot in the state. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. He wasn't able to think of her without reliving her final days. He'd just as soon not be around than actually have to deal with some kind of emotion.

That's not to say I'm perfect, far from it. For a time I couldn't stand even driving by the hospital where she died or seeing people that reminded me of teary goodbyes. I was willing to hide away in hopes that the pain couldn't find me in whatever hole I crawled into. But that changed. She changed me. And now there was no going back.

Again I brought myself back from my mental wanderings to give the doctor some of my attention. He was engrossed once again in my chart and for a moment I fought the urge to look over his shoulder.

He slid the pen he was using into his shirt pocket and looked at me. It was a little disturbing because I could tell he wanted to say something to me. I didn't really feel the need to ask so I just sat there observing the fact that he had a lot more grey hair since the last time I saw him.

"Okay Kate, we're done for now. You were the last appointment for the day so feel free to take your time in here. And take this to the reception desk," he said while handing me a green sheet of paper. With a deep breath he stood and walked toward the door.

"Thanks Dr. Hansen," I said while glancing at the sheet.

"How many times do I have to ask you to call me Jack? I've known you and your family way too long to still be Dr. Hansen." His voice took on that mock annoyed tone.

"Sorry Dr. Jack." I watched him snort a short laugh and toss a wave over his shoulder on the way out.

He turned back and gave me a small smile. "I'll see you later Kate, take care." And with that he was gone and I was once again alone in the small room.

That wasn't so bad. Well it was easy to say that after the whole thing was over and there was an end in sight. I hopped down off the exam table, glad I'd soon have some clothes on. I just hope everything was where I left it. If my luck for the day held out I'd end up missing a shoe.