Back before I was enlightened, I naively believed doctors operated on a professional level. Translated, I thought they were above suspicion of being voyeurs. A doctor didn't notice me as a person. I was merely a patient. He didn't notice my undergarments, whether or not I shaved my legs. I felt doctors achieved this status something like mothers do.
A young lady in her teens would be completely mortified if someone vomitted on her or she on someone else. (This happened to a friend. She blew chunks of lunch down the back of the student sitting in front of her. Can you imagine finishing your high school years with that reputation?) Once this girl becomes a mom, without thinking, she holds her hands out in front of a puking child to catch the contents. Or casually cleans up the spilled contents of a leaky diaper.
I supposed that whether a doctor was looking down my throat or peering between my legs, he was just doing his job. He didn't see me as a real person.
And then I was enlightened.
I was almost 5 months pregnant with Hilary. I was having a lot of back pain, making it difficult to care for my 4 children. I decided to make an appointment with a chiropractor. I had to wait 2 days before seeing him.
I was miserable. Not only from the shooting pain, but I was depressed at my pitiful wardrobe. I was just pregnant enough that I didn't fit into my regular clothing. But after 4 pregnancies, my maternity clothes were pretty ragged. Knowing this would be my last need for them, I resisted buying new ones. I especially didn't want to spend the ridiculous price on underwear. Afterall, I would only be wearing them for a few more months and they were more expensive than beautiful lingerie.
The morning of my appointment, the only clean underwear in my drawer was 2 pairs that had holes in them. I was embarrassed to the point that I became desperate. What if I had to change into a gown at the doctor's office? What would he think of my holy, err, holie...you know, underwear with holes in it? I had an idea.
I opened my husbands top dresser drawer. Inside was a neat stack of soft, white, cotton underwear. Carefully, I pulled a pair out and tried them on. Wow! Men's underwear was so nice and comfy. They fit nicely over my pudgy belly. They were even soft around the legs. No scratchy elastic. They were almost perfect. Except for the pocket in the front and that darn wasteband with the words hanes running around it.
If I was getting a back adjustment, the doctor would never see the fly front. I tried rolling the waistband down so it was tucked neatly on the inside. It worked! I was pleased with my new, white, non-holed undies. Off to the chiropractor I went.
I almost forgot about my little secret, until I was asked to change into a gown. I smiled sheepishly to myself. Nobody would ever notice. The doctor entered the room, & introduced himself. After discussing my back problem, the fact that I was pregnant and couldn't be ex-rayed, he was ready to do an adjustment. He had me lay face down on the table.
I felt the gown open in the back, as I got into position. I shot a prayer to heaven that he wouldn't notice my whity-tidies. And then it happened. I felt something grab the back of my underwear. With a firm grip, he tugged. The Hanes waistband was exposed. He gasped. Still grasping the underwear he blurted out, "What's this?"
No words came. Awkward didn't begin to describe the situation. I couldn't even mumble. He finally released his grasp. "Why are you wearing men's underwear?" He was obviously horrified.
It was then, that I realized, not all doctors act in a professional manner. They do notice things like unshaven legs, or if you are wearing men's underwear. Some doctors would be merciful and allow me some dignity, laughing only when they retold the story at dinner that night. This one probably chuckled with his family later, but did not spare the me the humiliation.
I never saw him again.
