The Fitting: 1:2

[postlink]http://diaphragmblues.blogspot.com/2009/09/fitting-12.html[/postlink]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UDy4P60S6l0endofvid
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A young Judy Winthrup has her first OBGYN visit and is fitted for Birth Control.


“The Fitting” or ”The Trial of Judy Winthrup, Part 1.”

JUDY WINTHRUP

Alone, I walk down a short hall and into the first examination room on the right.  Examination room ‘B.’  ‘B’ for birth control.  The room is white.  Sterile.  As an examination room should be.  There is a gown laid out for me, but I don’t know any better . . . I think it’s a smock.   There are all types of gadgets here.  Gloves.  Steel objects.  Magazines.  Jelly. 
A poster hangs on the ceiling.  It’s a butterfly.  It reminds me of my grandmother’s butterfly collection.  The butterfly represents the woman’s genitalia.  I think about my grandmother’s collection.  Dead butterflies under thick plastic.  The moment is timeless, hanging over my head like the butterfly poster.
Then . . . she comes in--the Doctor.
She has the kind of legs that straight men or gay women would die for:  Long, slinky and smooth.  The legs interrogate me with questions:

DR.LEGS AKA PROFESSOR MARY M. REYNOLDS

Are you sexually active?  Do you experience frequent yeast infections?  When was your last menstruation?  Would you happen to have a mint?  I had hummas for lunch, you know.

JUDY WINTHRUP

I answer all her questions.  Calm.  Cool.  Steady as a jackhammer.  Legs tell me about birth control.  She describes my options the way Mick Jagger sings rock-n-roll.  Rough and tempting. 

DR.LEGS AKA PROFESSOR MARY M. REYNOLDS

Now remember, not all birth control protects against STDs.  Regardless, there are over the counter options you know: rubbers, sponges and such.  Of course, there is the birth control pill and some that will even clean up that acne you are sporting, dear.  The IUD is now well received as is the Diaphragm. Indeed, the diaphragm is a low cost and highly effective choice.

JUDY WINTHRUP

I agreed, and so the diaphragm is my choice of armor.  Dr. Legs puts on rubber gloves, and then tells me to lie down on the examination table.  I assume the position for my first female exam. 
You know the kind, take your clothes off and put your feet into the cold steel hands that open you up like the Ballard Locks.  The medieval steel thong looks like a duck’s beak.  Dr. Legs inserts the beak into my vagina and spreads me as wide as possible; I had no idea how flexible I could be.

DR.LEGS AKA PROFESSOR MARY M. REYNOLDS

Now press down like you’re going to have a bowel movement, but of course, don’t dear.

JUDY WINTHRUP

Legs is no quack.  Everything is fine.  What a relief.  I’m then measured for the correct diaphragm size; by the look of it, I get the baby-model.  I’m shown how to insert the diaphragm, and then Legs leaves me alone to practice—throwing me away like a used Kleenex. 
I’m clear on my assignment:  Get the diaphragm in.  Take the diaphragm out.  Simple enough.  But this assignment is filled with gels and rubber; I’ve never been very good with the slippery and the stretchy--panty-hose still elude me. 
First, I put the spermicide into the cup of the diaphragm and around the edges.  Now, I fold the diaphragm into the shape of a taco.  The gesture makes me hungry.  After it’s folded, I ease it into my vagina and hope I don’t have to go fishing.  No fear of losing it; I can’t get it in. 
I wonder, do boys think of this on their first time out; their first time in?  Out.  In.  Out.  In.  But I digress. 
The diaphragm flies across the floor and lands on dust bunnies.  I go through a tube of spermicide.  Will this farce ever end? 
I decide to give it one more try, if not for me, for Dr. Legs.  I remember that fateful summer in little league.  The last inning.  Reds ahead by one.  It’s up to me to bring in the winning runs.  The bases are loaded.  My hands slide around the bat with a tight grip and then the swing.  The diaphragm goes flying through the air and attaches itself to the ceiling.  The game is lost. 
Dr. Legs comes in with a broom and pries it off the ceiling. 

DR.LEGS AKA PROFESSOR MARY M. REYNOLDS

No worries dear, happens to the best of us, you know.

JUDY WINTHRUP

Dr. Legs sends me home.  I’m not in her league.  On the way out she looks at me the way The Babe looks at a fan and tells me:

DR.LEGS AKA PROFESSOR MARY M. REYNOLDS

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.  If you still don't get the hand of it, there is always the pill dear.

JUDY WINTHRUP

Yes, there is always the pill.  Thank you Margaret Sanger.

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