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A Diamond in the Rough	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > General Views: 3410 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Chapter 11: Exposed Queen
-Humiliation, Medical Squick

Much of the paperwork for new patient intake – namely, family history and insurance information – had apparently been handled in advance, leaving only the sections for personal information. Filling in most of the blanks had been simple enough, although Emma had felt a spike of embarrassment at having to answer regarding “recent sexual activity.” Not the “n/a” answer itself – simply having to admit something so personal felt a little embarrassing, not to mention having to fill in that blank quickly enough to avoid Mother’s prying eyes.
The standard procedures of taking her height, weight, and blood pressure had passed painlessly enough, but there was simply no dignified way to give the urine sample. Fortunately, Emma had managed without creating too much of a mess, and within a timeframe that prevented Mother or the nurse from having to check in on her. The nurse, a petite East Asian woman in bright blue scrubs, whose nametag read “Amy Chen,” struck Emma as an all-business type of woman, which also set Emma somewhat more at ease about the proceedings.
While Emma sat on the examination table awaiting the doctor, Mother maintained a constant stream of chatter about some petty nonsense between other women of her set that occurred at a charity brunch. Each minute waiting felt like twenty, especially with the stirrup gleaming ominously at the end of the table. To keep her mind occupied, and to allay her building anxiety, she ran through the variations of openings stemming from the Ruy Lopez.
She didn’t make it too far through that enormous series before the doctor arrived. A petite middle-aged woman with short curly brown hair shot through with silver, she introduced herself as “Dr. Goldberg” in a noticeable Brooklyn accent. Dr. Goldberg held a clipboard in one hand while adjusting her round-rimmed glasses, a kind smile resting on her lips. “Good to see you again, Hazel. And you must be Emma?”
Emma nodded, fixing her gaze on the clipboard to avoid a mishap with her powers. “It’s my first visit,” she added.
“You looked a little surprised, darling,” Mother interjected. “Something wrong?”
Emma inwardly kicked herself – she thought she’d maintained her expression better than that. “All the doctors I’ve had before were men.”
“Most doctors are,” kvetched Dr. Goldberg. “Outside of a couple specialties, anyhow. Pediatricians, for instance.” She checked her papers. “I see you had Dr. Blalock, though. Nice guy. We dated for a bit.”
“He is quite handsome,” agreed Mother. “Too bad it didn’t work out for you.”
The doctor shrugged, and Mother turned her attention to Emma. “Don’t worry, darling,” she soothed. “Unlike any of the other women gynos I’ve had, Dr. Goldberg is as gentle as can be. More like the men, honestly. But I thought you might not want to show yourself to a man for the first time under these circumstances.”
Uncharacteristically thoughtful, Emma allowed, despite the embarrassment she felt that her efforts to hide that information from Mother had failed.
Mother turned back to the doctor. “All-girls’ school ever since kindergarten, and even her college she’s attending now. Emma’s always been so focused on her studies, too. No time or opportunity for boyfriends.”
“Not that unusual at her age,” hummed the doctor absently.
Mother glared at her daughter in a manner that was supposed to be playful. “I think she’s avoiding them on purpose, just to spite me.”
“Oh, no. You’ve caught out my devious scheme, Mother,” Emma deadpanned.
“Before we proceed,” the doctor interjected, regarding Emma with a thoughtful gaze, “since you’re eighteen, Emma, you’re entitled to privacy regarding your medical records, including exams. Even from your parents, if you want.”
“Ridiculous!” Mother scoffed. “We’re paying for this visit, and the insurance besides. We have the right to know where our money’s going, and to know if there’s anything wrong with our daughter.”
The doctor shrugged. “HIPAA disagrees. You’ll still get an invoice for any tests, but whether you get to know the results is between you and your adult daughter.”
Even keeping her eyes on the doctor’s clipboard, Emma could feel Mother’s glare across the room. “Emma, darling,” she began, her words filtered through her patented pageant smile and the accompanying faux-syrup. “Please inform Dr. Goldberg that I’ll be staying.”
Emma fought to keep her elation from showing on her face, much less from leaking into her voice. “Actually, Mother, I’d rather you leave,” she replied, turning toward her, just off-center enough to avoid her eyes.
“You wouldn’t be having this appointment, Emma dear, if I hadn’t convinced Dr. Goldberg to accept you as a new patient,” Mother insisted. “I can’t believe –”
“I want to face this alone,” Emma interjected, realizing the truth of her words as she spoke them. “That’s part of growing up, wouldn’t you say? Besides, you said yourself I could trust Dr. Goldberg completely.” Checkmate, Mother dearest.
She saw Mother’s jaw clench with impotent fury. “Very well, Emma darling. I’ll be waiting in the car,” she bit out in that same faux-syrupy tone. With that, she stormed out.
Emma knew Mother had a vindictive streak, so she could certainly expect some sort of retribution later. For now, for this moment before the coming indignities, though, she savored her triumph.
After a long moment, the doctor cleared her throat. “Alright, Emma, I’ve gotta ask – and this is pertinent to your file here – what about girlfriends?”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “I… beg your pardon?”
“No boyfriends, all-girls schools – it’s not uncommon,” replied Dr. Goldberg, adjusting her glasses. “With all those adolescent hormones, boys and girls sometimes experiment with each other. If that’s true, I need to know. You can catch STDs from same-sex encounters just as easily, you know.”
Emma shook her head mutely, just wanting this surreal line of questioning to end already.
The doctor shrugged – by now, Emma assumed it was a tic as much as anything. “No rush. You’re young; you’ve got plenty of time for that. I didn’t have my first boyfriend till grad school.”
She made a few notes and set down her clipboard. “Now that’s out of the way, I’m going to fetch one of my nurses to accompany us for the rest of the appointment. Liability reasons. Or, I’ve got a med student doing her internship – may I bring her in to observe?”
“No thank you,” answered Emma without a moment’s hesitation. This will be awkward enough with one person poking around down there, she added internally. I don’t need to become someone’s “learning experience.”
The doctor shrugged. “While I’m gone, you’ll need to undress completely and put on that gown,” she instructed, pointing to the pale-blue garment folded neatly on a nearby counter. “Completely,” she repeated for emphasis.
Fighting down another spike of embarrassment, Emma swallowed. “I understand, Dr. Goldberg.”
The doctor nodded and smiled gently. “Alright. Back in a few.”
Once she’d departed, Emma seethed. Did Mother wish to stay to embarrass me further by commenting on my body while I’m naked? Or solidify her belief that my body is, by her standards, inadequate? To suggest outfit ideas to display myself shamelessly like she does?
As she fumed, she undressed, folding her dress neatly and stashing her bra and panties beneath it. The exam room’s cold air brought goosebumps to her bare skin as she picked up the cloth medical gown – linen, she surmised. As she shimmied into the garment, she left her thin white ankle socks on.
I’ll be caught dead before I let either doctor or nurse see my ugly, misshapen feet.
Emma didn’t have to wait much longer before a knock on the door. Once she gave permission to enter, Dr. Goldberg returned, trailed by Nurse Chen, who smiled and handed Emma a white paper sheet, which Emma kept her eyes on to avoid eye contact. “You remember Nurse Chen, of course,” the doctor explained. “As I mentioned earlier, her role is to witness that I don’t take any undue liberties while examining you.”
If she works for you here at your practice, how is that any insurance against impropriety? wondered Emma. Wouldn’t the nurse simply provide cover for any abuses?
The doctor proceeded to check Emma’s heart rate with her stethoscope. The metal against her skin felt utterly frigid, but she managed to keep herself from squirming or shivering too noticeably.
“Now, lie down and place your arm behind your head, please,” the nurse instructed, and Emma complied. The nurse then unfastened the back of the gown beneath her.
“First, the breast exam,” Dr. Goldberg explained as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “I’ll be checking for any unusual lumps that might be tumors. Cancer’s unlikely at your age, but not unheard of.”
Emma stared at the nondescript ceiling with the doctor worked – she used the term “palpating” after slipping her hand under the medical gown. The sensation of the doctor’s fingers rhythmically poking her breasts (if one could truly call them that) felt strangely soothing, almost like a massage. Idly, Emma wondered if this process took longer for bustier women, like Mother… or Ms. Grey.
Why am I thinking about her at a time like this?
They repeated the whole process for the other side. Dr. Goldberg rattled off some medical jargon to the nurse, who dutifully took notes. The doctor shot Emma a reassuring smile. “Everything’s perfectly normal.”
Nurse Chen chimed in at this point. “Please drape that paper over your lap. I’ll help you place your feet into the stirrups.”
Emma complied again, and the nurse did as promised. Emma fought to control her breathing, hating feeling so exposed, so powerless. She hated the idea that she’d have to subject herself to this indignity every year for her entire adult life.
With that, she moved to the other end of the table, where Emma knew she now had an unobstructed view of her most private area. Emma’s view, unlike the doctor’s, was quite obstructed by the paper and by her own legs. The nurse applied some substance to the doctor’s gloved hand, and she rubbed it onto her index and middle fingers.
“Alright, Emma, I’m going to insert my fingers into your vagina, to examine your ovaries for cysts and such. As best as you can, try to relax,” she instructed.
Relaxing, in Emma’s experience, had always been most difficult when actively attempting to do it. The sensation of the doctor’s fingers entering her where nothing had gone before felt intensely strange and uncomfortable. Worse, the doctor began pressing on her abdomen with her other hand, squeezing what Emma presumed was her ovary from both directions, firmly but not quite hard enough to truly hurt. Repetition of the process on the other side proved no less unpleasant.
The doctor slipped her fingers out, and Emma felt her hands unclench, releasing the edges of her gown. I must have gripped it without realizing, she mused.
Dr. Goldberg favored her with another reassuring smile around her right leg. “I hope that wasn’t too bad, Emma. I’ve had some doctors work me over so hard that my ovaries felt like they’d been used as punching bags.”
Emma winced. “Not that bad, no.”
Dr. Goldberg again rattled off some medical jargon to the nurse, who handed her a metallic object that looked vaguely like a duck’s bill. “I wish I could tell you it gets better,” commented the doctor as she coated the device with the same substance as her hand, “but I won’t lie or sugarcoat. Every woman I know, myself included, hates each step more than the last.”
How comforting.
“This device is called a speculum,” the doctor explained, “and it’ll let me see how your cervix is doing. And yes, this is the smallest one I have.”
Around her right leg, Dr. Goldberg gave Emma another reassuring smile. This time, Emma was unable to avoid eye contact…
Dr. Goldberg stood on a stage, lit only by a spotlight, a standing microphone in front of her. “Speculum?” she began in a tongue-in-cheek tone. “I hardly knew ‘em!”
Raucous laughter pealed from the audience concealed within the offstage darkness.
Dr. Goldberg ducked her head back behind the paper veil of privacy, breaking the mental contact.
A moment later, Emma felt the metal device begin to invade her body. It didn’t feel cold (thank goodness), especially compared to the room. It also didn’t hurt (thank goodness), but Emma had to fight the urge to squirm from the indescribable discomfort.
“Everything looks nice and healthy,” commented the doctor. “With your height, weight, and dancing, I gotta ask: Are you menstruating regularly?”
Emma knew that “regularly” meant “monthly.” She stared at one of the posters on the wall advertising birth control and answered, “No. My last cycle was back in June. Before that, April; before that, January.”
The doctor hummed. “That’s not ideal, but it’s not necessarily a problem – yet. Between now and your next visit, track them for me. More data is always helpful.”
Grand. That’s not embarrassing at all.
The nurse handed Dr. Goldberg another implement, this one plastic, long and narrow and tipped with a cotton swab. “Last, we’ve got the pap smear,” explained the doctor. “I’m going to scrape a tissue sample from your cervix to culture, looking for cancer markers or other abnormalities. Brace yourself; this could hurt.”
A moment later, Emma felt an acute pain, deeply internal and radiating throughout her abdomen. The doctor’s encouraging words evaporated under the withering ferocity of whatever she was doing. Emma squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw to prevent herself from crying out.
I will not scream. I will not scream. I will not scream.
I will maintain that much dignity, at least.
I will not show weakness. Weakness is imperfection, and imperfection is impermissible.
The pain slowly subsided into a dull ache throughout her abdomen, reminiscent, appropriately enough, of menstrual cramps. Emma managed to relax, little by little, and open her eyes, blinking away unshed tears. She glanced over to see the nurse placing the swab into a labeled plastic tube. “We’ll call you in a few weeks with the results. With any luck, we won’t need to do this again,” the doctor explained with a smile.
Emma blanched. Perish the thought.
“Any questions?”
Ready to be finished with this – beyond ready – Emma shook her head.
The nurse handed Emma a box of tissues and a cotton panty-liner. “I’m going to help you out of the stirrups now. We’ll leave you to clean up in a moment. Your gown goes into that hamper,” she instructed, pointing to a helpfully-labeled receptacle. With gentle hands on her calves, she helped Emma arrange herself into a sitting position. “There’s likely to be some spotting and soreness for a few days.”
Emma mumbled her thanks, and the doctor and nurse both left. Gingerly she dabbed a tissue around her groin, the area still tender from everything it had endured. She tried to ignore the glaring scarlet spots left on the used tissues as she disposed of them. Her insides felt like they’d been put through a blender on the highest setting.
Maybe now I’ll have a reason to excuse myself from any other unpleasant activities that Mother has planned, Emma thought wryly as she dressed to escape from this chamber of medical torments.
________________________________________________________________________
A/N: First, shout-out to my wife, who walked me through a gynecologist appointment, giving me details I had absolutely no idea about. I knew she'd always come home grumpy afterwards, and she'd given me an overview before; but after this breakdown... oof. Yet another reason to be glad to be a man.
One of the things that was the opposite of what I expected: they only inspect the insides - there's no looking at the vulva or mound, apparently. That seems... kinda crucial to me, at least if you're looking for evidence of STIs (rendered "STDs" in the chapter, which was the preferred terminology in the early 2000s). But obviously I myself am not a gynecologist!
Also, apparently it's pretty typical that one's first visit is after turning 18, unless one is known to be sexually active. I'd thought that the first visit happened a fair bit younger, either around menarche or in one's mid-teens once menstruation had stabilized into a true cycle. (shrug)
Anywho, please don't hesitate to leave feedback in the form of a review!
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A Diamond in the Rough