“Now for the bimanual,” Dr. Vance said, discarding the speculum. “I’m going to insert two fingers and press on your lower belly with my other hand. This checks the size, shape, and position of your uterus and ovaries. Let me know if you feel any sharp pain.”
“And there’s the left.”
Rachel Steele stared at the ceiling of the examination room, counting the tiny holes in the acoustic tiles. It was her third attempt at counting; the first two had been interrupted by the pounding of her own heart. The paper gown crinkled with every breath she took, a harsh whisper in the sterile silence.
The Reluctant Return
A soft knock made her jump.
“Hey, what’s up?” her sister answered.
Rachel hung up and looked at the succulent. She didn’t know anything for certain yet. But she knew one thing: she had faced the room she’d been running from for three years. And because she had, she now had a chance—a real chance—to catch something early. Rachel Steele - Gyno Exam
The touch was light, clinical, but deliberate. Dr. Vance narrated everything. “Looking for any lesions, swelling, or abnormalities. Everything looks healthy. Now, I’m going to insert the speculum. It’s warmed, and I’ve used a water-based lubricant. You’ll feel pressure, not pain. Tell me if that changes.”
Dr. Vance took her hand. “You focus on the next step. Not the worst-case scenario. The next step is the MRI. And you come back to see me in two weeks to go over the results together. You’re not alone in this.”
Nurse Liam Chen knocked and entered, his presence calm and unobtrusive. He verified Rachel’s identity and allergies, then stood by the instrument tray, ready to assist but giving Rachel her space. “Now for the bimanual,” Dr
“Okay, Rachel,” Dr. Vance said, pulling on her gloves. “I’m going to lower the lights a bit. The overhead light is bright, but it helps me see. You can keep your eyes on the ceiling or on the plant. Your choice. Feet in the stirrups when you’re ready.”
“I’ll be there,” her sister said without hesitation. “Always.”
Dr. Vance sat down on the rolling stool, placing herself at eye level with Rachel, not between her legs. “Your chart tells me that. But I’d rather hear it from you. Why the gap?” This checks the size, shape, and position of
It had been three years. Three years since her last annual exam. She knew it was irresponsible. She was a savvy, in-control woman in every other aspect of her life—closing million-dollar deals, leading a team of twenty, running half-marathons. But the moment she saw the stirrups, the cold speculum, the bright overhead light, she became a terrified teenager again.