I Am Woman!!! :: Personal Narrative Essay Example

I Am Woman!!!   Things being what they are, the reason don't gynecologists have challenges to make it in any event intriguing? That is to say, while you're lying there, legs spread to the world, why not move things alongside a dash of silliness? Include the-Holes-In-The-Ceiling-Tiles or Count-How-Many-Miles-Until He-Reaches-China or even How-Many-Organs-Will-Still-Be-Intact? The demonstration of submitting oneself to the mortification of review has, since the first mountain woman hunched down in labor, lingered in the female awareness as a binding together power prone to detonate in curbed rage. Ladies have been goaded, examined, looked at, pared down, touched, pregnant, entered and pawed since the beginning of human advancement. From the data I have assembled over my long periods of sprouting womanhood, the worldview ought to be moving as least as much as bosoms to gravity.   I am not the only one. In storage spaces, sorority residences, at Tupperware parties and at PTA gatherings, sisterhood has been based on the aggregate wretchedness from the breaking down and fizzling of the female life structures. I have heard stories that would send TV makers running for a schedule opening to revive Sovereign for a Day. Who wouldn't be moved by the lady in Syracuse who felt like she had this season's cold virus - no vitality, throbbing back and stomach cramps? Amazingly she conveyed a nine-pound child kid on the Simonized kitchen floor of her twofold wide trailer. That is some influenza. Perhaps, at this point, there is a logical name for it (so the condition can be perceived by the AMA for conceivable financing). Something like the Haagen-Daz Syndrome or Gherkin-itis would support these ladies and their primary care physicians separate between influenza and pregnancy. At that point there's the lady in Des Moines who, at 75 years old, brought forth triplets and afte rward sued her primary care physician for negligence. The anti-conception medication pills he had endorsed for her were not the right dose. So state her legal advisors. It continues endlessly. The supporters of the show could give out gigantic prizes going from a year's gracefully of ladylike cushions to a gross of Midol. The great prize, after the skirmish of the lumps, could be an outing to the Smithsonian Institution to see gynecological instruments from the time of Western extension of the United States. That would brighten up the most stretched and distressed among us.   Nothing constructs solidarity like classic difficulty. Ladies, accused for being diverted by intuition, have an affinity for following the misfortunes of their sisters.