If you have never had a pelvic exam, and/or are a male human being, you might want to think seriously about reading this blog post. I mean it. Gonna be some major girlie talk. Speculum. Vagina. Lubricant. You still there? Okay, here goes. I may have said earlier that I have a super cool Radiation Oncologist. One of the major reasons he is so cool, is that he gets my sense of humor, I mean he actually laughs at my jokes. He genuinely thinks I am a funny person. On our last visit (I say we like a royal we cuz I include my Mom in all things) he had promised to save the pelvic exam. I asked him "save it for when? for when I get a craving? like potato chips?" He was chuckling so hard he could barely answer that the exam would be better for my cholesterol than potato chips, but most likely happen next visit. It happened. Any woman that has had this exam knows how uncomfortable, embarrassing and possibly humiliating it can be. Well, after all of the surgeries, exams, scans, x-rays and tests I have had through all of this I didn't really think one more would break me. I was wrong. I went in with my regular sense of humor, even quoting my regular Gynecologist saying "You can never be too rich or too far down the table." My doc and his resident were both laughing. Then, the speculum had to come out. Then, it was discovered I required the pediatric speculum. With radiation of the pelvis some female patients can get what is called stenosis, or a stricturing of the vagina, making it so narrow even a pelvic exam is unbearable. If I weren't bawling while he said it, I would have answered when he asked "So, I guess you aren't sexually active?" Then, while my hands were over my mouth to keep me from screaming, and the resident was offering me her free hands for me to grab onto, he said one of the funniest sentences I have ever heard uttered in a doctor's office, "You need to put something in your vagina at least once to three times a week." If my cries weren't being swallowed, you can bet I would have answered with something fantastic. Hmmmm, something in your vagina? Random things? Toblerones? Cowboys? Multitools? After, when the damned thing was over I was helped up and as I sat there, crying, I felt so terrible for making my doctor feel so terrible. He didn't mean to hurt me, yet I couldn't stop crying. I was so embarrassed. He hugged me. Twice. He felt so bad, for causing me such pain. He prescribed vaginal dilators. This pretty pink bag with a whole range of somethings to put in my vagina once to three times a week. The maker of these dilators is called Owen Mumford, and as I sat with my Mom in the waiting room for my next ct-scan appointment to be made, I said to my Mom "hey, a Mumford for my Muff." I went straight from wanting to lie down on the ground and never stop crying, to giggling at dirty jokes. With my Ehlers-Danlos, due to all of my joint dislocations and heart valve issues, the joke made early on in my life by my Dr. Grover was that I was the loosest girl in town. As my Mom and I stood outside Huntsman, waiting for the valet to bring the car, I said "I went from the loosest girl in town to the tightest eh?" We both smiled. Then I said, "This gives a whole new meaning to the term tight ass doesn't it?" My Mom, my most wonderful sweet voiced Mom says "Yes, you're a Tight Twat."