The paper gown crackled when I shifted on the table.
Dr. Reid had already done the basics—blood pressure, the cold press of the stethoscope, questions about my cycle that I answered while staring at the ceiling tiles. My husband, Mark, was in the waiting room. He’d driven me because the last two appointments had run long and he didn’t like me taking the bus home after. Now it was just the two of us in the exam room. The door was closed. The nurse had left ten minutes ago.
“Scoot down for me,” Dr. Reid said. His voice was calm, professional. “Heels in the stirrups.”
I did. The gown rode up. Cool air hit my thighs. He pulled on fresh gloves, the snap loud in the quiet room, and settled on the stool between my legs. The speculum was cold when he eased it in. I breathed through the pressure
