She had me there. She pulled out some peppermint gum, offering me a stick. Oddly, I was okay with that particular smell, and I’d been avoiding strong smells for a few days on account of the hormonal flux. I popped it into my mouth, trying hard not to think about the impending appointment. It was less the exam itself that bugged me, but more the embarrassment of having my innermost secret parts on display for a stranger.

When I voiced that to Mormor at brunch that morning, she’d scoffed at me over her bread topped with liver pâté.

“Do you know how many snipporna they look at in a day?” she’d demanded.

“...snipporna?”

“Yes. Vagoos. Vaginas. That doctor’s life is looking at one snippa after another. Do you have teeth down there?”

“...Mormor.”

“Well, do you? Teeth? Fire? Do you shoot fire from your vagina?”

“No! It’s just—”

“It is no big deal to your doctor. It is only a big deal to you because you are young and stupid.”

My mother took exception to my grandmother calling me stupid and the fight was on. I just sat there eating my toast while they fought, trying hard not to shudder because Mormor’s liver pâté looked and smelled like cat food.

Which was how and why I was thinking about bubblegum, cat food and the Swedish word for vagina when my doctor entered the room.

Dr. Cardiff was tall and broad through the shoulders. She was probably in her thirties, with short-cut light brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses and a wide smile with lots and lots of white teeth. When she extended her hand to me, her doctor’s coat rose up mid-forearm and I could see a sleeve of tattoos, the bottommost one a unicorn with a rainbow mane.

Okay, so, my OB/GYN is badass.

Cool.

“Hey there, Serendipity. Love the name,” she said in greeting.

“Sara,” I said. “But thanks. Gotta give my mom credit for that one.”

“Good job, Mom. Dr. Cardiff, nice to meet you,” my doctor said, extending that same hand for a shake to my mother.

“Astrid,” Mom said. “Nice to meet you.”

Dr. Cardiff sat down at the computer to my left and eyeballed my vitals. The nurse had taken them and, outside of a little high blood pressure because I had white coat syndrome, everything had looked good. The doctor perused a couple of screens, nodded and smiled. “Okay, so we’re going to get some personal info out of the way before we jump into the pelvic. Can you state your birthday for me?”