The nurse closed the door behind her as she left, having instructed me to change into the paper "hospital" gown folded neatly on the paper lined and elevated bed that was the examination table. As was the case with any medical facility, it seemed, the doctor's office was cool and a slight breeze from the ceiling vent ruffled the pamphlets clipped to a board hanging on the wall; a trickle of goose bumps rose on my skin. This was my first appointment with the "new" doctor as, at eighteen, I had passed the age where my pediatrician - a white haired elderly man who had cared for me since infancy - was able to include me in his patient caseload.
My aunt had recommended Dr. D. to me as he went to her church and came with high accolades from many of her choir buddies. Like my aunt, the choir buddies were verging on early middle age with little to no prospects for "catching" a man at this "past the best buy date" stage of their lives and, like me, my aunt was no pin up girl with her bright auburn hair and sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Truth be told, neither of us were actually plain looking and we each had the curves of a womanly body but, quite frankly, neither of us were enamored with the virtual domestic servitude implied by the marriage contract of our church denomination and were rather spirited in our defense of our own burgeoning rights as influenced by the secular women's movement of the early 1960's. Perhaps, like my aunt and me, the choir buddies were not so much the rejects the status of spinsterhood implied, but more resisters in the passive manner not necessarily condoned by our church, but not condemned by it either. And perhaps the freedom, sexual and otherwise, that was sweeping across Western culture in the 1960's crept its own subtle way into the mindset of each of us despite our religious convictions. Whatever the case was, it wasn't until many months after the incident that the true nature of their accolades for Dr. D. came to light.
I was nervous, to a certain extent, as meeting someone new, in any circumstances, created a social anxiety in me and, of course, the "intimacy" of my first adult all over physical exam exacerbated my nervousness. Nevertheless, I methodically began to remove my clothing as I had been instructed: my mind was suspended in a sort of daze as if the rote thinking would calm me. First, I slipped off my new high heeled summer shoes and placed them side by side, just slightly under the office style arm chair that was positioned at a right angle to the doctor's wheeled stool. Then I sat in that chair, pulled the full skirt of my dress up to my thighs, unclipped my garters and carefully rolled my nude colored stockings, one at a time, down the full length of my leg. These, I tucked neatly into the toe of each shoe.
I stood again, and reached around back and unzipped my dress. The tight bodice fell away from my body as the cap sleeves slid off my shoulders and part way down my arms. I shrugged myself the rest of the way out of the dress and the bright blue soft cotton fabric floated out on the floor as I stepped my way free of it. There was a hanger on the door hook; I carefully placed my dress there, zipping it up once again so the wide round neckline would sit without slipping off.
Next, I reached up under my slip and undid the hooks and eyes at the back of my bra, slid the straps off my arms and then pulled it off my breasts. They bounced slightly with the slight snap of removing the bra and the silky lace on the bodice of my translucent white slip tickled my nipples which were already erect with apprehension and the taunting of the cool ventilation breeze. That bodily response added to the nervousness of being naked in front of a stranger and my nerves tingled as I did the same with the garter belt and then folded both undergarments neatly on the chair. Now I was standing in just my slip and panties and I felt a little foolish at my reluctant stripping. I was the only one in the room, the only one who could see my undressing, and yet somehow the route of removing my slip last seemed the most comfortable.
I understood I was being modest to the extreme, nevertheless, I ruched my slip up to my hips and reached a finger, one on each side, into the elastic waistband of my sensible panties and then rolled them down to my knees, crooking my right leg to bring one side down to my ankle, and then stepping out of them as well. Like the garter belt and bra, I folded the panties neatly and placed them on the seat of the chair. Then I hesitated a moment and took a quick glance around the room. Stainless steel medical instruments were laid out on the counter by the sink and one was a contraption the likes of which I'd never seen before. This instrument, in particular, looked vaguely uncomfortable and although the ends of the duck-bill like shape were gently rounded, the handle seemed to have some sort of screw-like device which sent a small frisson of unease through me.
I shook myself into activity with the faint sound of voices in the hallway. The doctor would come in before I was ready if I didn't speed things up and so, crossing my arms one over the other, I reached down to the lace trim of my slip and pulled the fabric up and over my head. Now I was standing in that cool medical examination room completely naked, my nipples erect and gooseflesh raising the hair on my arms and pubic area. I grabbed the paper gown that was on the examination table, shook it out, slid my arms into the awkwardly large holes that served as sleeves, and reached around the back to tie the one thin string provided as a sort of belt. The gaping back of the gown and the thinness of the material did little to ameliorate the coolness of the air, although I did feel slightly less self-conscious with the awkwardly billowing "hospital green" covering.
Following the nurse's earlier instructions, I boosted myself into a sitting position on the elevated bench. The gown, of course, gaped open with my movement and the paper lining on the examination table crinkled as I shifted my bare bottom in a futile attempt to close the gap in the back.
It wasn't long before there was a brisk knock at the door, and the white-coated doctor stepped into the room, clipboard in hand. "Hello, I'm Dr. D., " he smiled warmly, his middle-aged face creased with crow's feet that did not detract from his daytime soap opera like charm. We exchanged brief pleasantries and he outlined to me the nuances of an overall physical exam with a g.p. versus a pediatrician, which included, now that I was an adult, a gynecological aspect. He attempted to assure me that he would do everything possible to make sure I felt no discomfort, physical or otherwise although the very fact he sought to assure me seemed to elevate my anxiety even more.
