Author:
Laura B
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Date Posted: Sunday, January 08, 2023, 08:59: am
It all started with something that is probably foreign to Gen-Z and many millennials today because it has become so outmoded--the rectal thermometer. In the '70s and '80s, there was no home with children that didn't have a rectal thermometer. While many mothers and doctors' offices only used it until the child was deemed old enough to hold the thermometer under their tongue for three minutes, some believed it should be used with older children as well, at least until they became tweens or even teens. Mothers and pediatricians had various justifications for this--they worried that the child would gag and the thermometer would fall out of her mouth (this happened once in my house growing up), spilling mercury everywhere, or they might just be sticklers for accuracy and the rectal thermometer was considered the gold standard. My mother began to wean me off the rectal thermometer when I was around six, but even then, if she suspected that the oral reading was wrong, she would say something like, "Laura, I think we should double-check this in your bottom." The last time that happened I was a few months shy of my tenth birthday. I would say that at my pediatrician's they moved me to oral at around eight.
So, by the time I was eleven, I thought that I was fully graduated from the indignity of having my temperature taken rectally. But then the pediatrician I had had since I was born retired, and for the time being there was no other pediatrician in our area besides a rather stodgy old man who ran his practice out of his home. The first time I went there was for my annual checkup after I had turned eleven. The nurse called my mother and me into the exam room fairly quickly--there were only a handful of other mothers and children in the waiting room. The nurse--I remember her name was Agnes--was probably in her '50s at the time. Anyhow, she started to do what nurses do--measuring my height, weighing me, having me produce a urine sample...and then, she suddenly said, "OK, Laura, now we have to take your temperature. Please be a good girl and lie on your tummy and pull your panties down to your knees." I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and I just flatly responded, "No." That seemed to take Nurse Agnes aback--she repeated "No?" I then stared at my mother with clenched teeth and said "Mom?" My mother then tried to reason with the nurse. "Agnes, I don't understand, she's not sick, and besides, she hasn't had her temperature taken rectally at the doctor's for several years now." But Nurse Agnes stood her ground. "Sorry, this doctor's policy is that all children have their temperatures taken rectally until they turn 12." My mother again tried to plead my case, saying, "Are you really sure that we can't make an exception here. You can see how upset Laura is." But Nurse Agnes replied, "Sorry, no exceptions."
My mother then gave me a look that said, essentially, I've done all I can here, let's just do this and get it over with. But I was pretty fierce. I said, once again, firmly, "No. No way." My mother tried to reason with me, saying things to the effect of, "C'mon, we're all girls here, there's nothing to be embarrassed about, Nurse Agnes has seen plenty of girls' bottoms." But that just got me angrier. I began screaming at my mom stuff like, "I can't believe you're letting her do this to me, I won't stand for it, I won't." My mom had patience, but it was not unlimited. She was clearly getting angered by my defiance and had had just about enough. In a tone that was all business, she said, "Enough of this already, Laura. I'm not going to ask you again. Listen to Nurse Agnes and lie on your tummy." But I wouldn't budge. I looked my mother straight in the eye and said, "Not. A. Chance."
That did it for my mother. She said, "Agnes, can you give Laura and me a minute or two alone? You can shut the door but wait right next to it, please." I think Agnes got a gleam in her eye when she sensed what was going to happen. She said, "Sure thing, Mrs. B." Once she left, my mother grabbed me by the arm with a vice grip, plopped me over her knee, yanked my panties down, and began spanking my bare bottom--hard and fast. I was determined not to sob--it took all my effort not to--but tears were running down my cheeks as the smacks grew more fast and furious. My mother probably didn't spank me for more than a minute but it felt like much longer. Finally, I couldn't bear the sting anymore and I cried, "OK, Mom, I'll listen, I'll listen." She answered, "Good. Now get yourself up on that exam table on your tummy and keep your panties down." She then went to the door, opened it so that it was just ajar, and said, "OK, Agnes, we're ready for you now." Agnes came back in smirking, looked at my pink and red bottom, and said, "Oh my, Mrs. B., you didn't miss a square inch." It was as embarrassed as I've ever been in my life. I'll spare you the details of the actual temperature taking, not to mention the shot in my bottom I received toward the end of my visit.
There was a book I used to read when I was young called "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." Well, this was my "Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day."
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