When you have a gynecological exam, your head is kept far away at the other end of the table, far from the action, and you can kind of pretend that you are not being poked and prodded with what clearly is a rusted torture device left over from the Middle Ages; you can lie there and take nice, deep, relaxing breaths, plan your day, chat amiably with the hairy-knuckled doctor while he slides a lubed