The land down under

If you are easily offended, would prefer not to know my very personal business, or lean toward being even a bit prudish----Please stop reading here!
OK...did I lose anyone? Well, just remember, I did warn you.
I paid a visit to my Belgian Gynecologist the other day. (now perhaps I lost a few readers at this point). You may consider what I am about to tell you to be a bit vulgar and way too explicit OR you can consider it a scientific experiment in cultural diversity. Take your pick.
So...back to the story....I paid a visit to my Belgian Gynecologist. Visiting a doctor here is very different from the American experience. The office is part of her house. She has no receptionist or secretary or billing clerk--you just walk in and sit in a very small waiting room--with enough space for exactly 3 people to wait and furnished with a small soft sofa and a comfy chair. When someone leaves, the doctor steps out and indicates for the next person to come on in......into her very small exam room (with of course no assistant)--just a desk, a sort-of reclining chair with stirrups, and a see-through screen (why bother with a screen when it is virtually transparent?) to stand behind when you are told to strip down and then come out mostly naked (no curtain or sheet to cover you, or paper gown of any sort). You don't lie back on an examining bed----you sit up, slightly leaned back, able to observe the entire goings-on. So now fast forward a bit....there I am sitting in this chair, mostly naked, knees wide, feet in the pedal-things (why do we call them stirrups? no one is riding anywhere) thanking the lord that I had the foresight to choose a female doctor. She has this microscope-looking-instrument between my legs and close to me, obviously zeroed in on my nether regions. Oh----and there is a large light shining on me down there....VERY bright----lighting me up like a mini football stadium. And she is in the middle of the exam, instrument plunged deeply. Suddenly her cell phone rings. "Oh" she says..."excuse me...I am going to get that". Out comes the speculum. ---- What!!!? Are you kidding me? So now, here I sit in the most exposed, unnatural position of my entire life... and she is answering her cell phone? And it wasn't a quick call either. No---it was at least several minutes long (which feels like 10 hours when your feet are in stirrups). And it didn't seem to be an emergency either. In fact, it sounded rather chatty. I don't speak much French---but I did hear the word couleur (color). Now perhaps it was a business call (like maybe she was discussing the color of someone's labia).....but I don't think so. The tone was very informal. In fact, at the time I was thinking maybe she was ordering wall paper. So I sat there spread eagle, spot light blazing as if my vagina were about to be interrogated (vee have vays to make you talk) ....and she is taking a phone call!! At that point it all seemed so ludicrous that I started to laugh (she didn't notice...she was engrossed in the call---most likely discussing curtain fabrics at this point). This story does have a happy ending...after all, I didn't have to get any further exams. I shudder to think of having an appointment with a Belgian proctologist.