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Tuesday, November 09, 2004

now i understand...

...why people file suit against other people.

for the boys, here is a disclaimer that the proceeding story is about "womanly things" as many of you so awkwardly put it; and "the gynecologist" for those of you who are a tad more mature.

i am a patient at a local Woman's Medical Group. i see one doctor there. he actually delivered me. but if you tell him that, he'll reply, "oohhhhhh [yes, in that stereotypical asian way...yeah, he's asian]...yeeeahhhh, time flies, ah?" ugh. nevermind. sorry i brought it up.

anyway. i recently had a biopsy of my cervix. sounds horrible. it's actually not that bad. i mean, it sucks, but it's fucking Disney World compared to what i went through yesterday. this most recent biopsy was actually my second, and when things hadn't improved this go-around, my doc, in his ever-present broken English, explained that i'd need cryosurgery. i think that's how it's spelled. it's where they freeze the cells so that they die, and, in theory, new healthy ones grow back.

now, prior to yesterday's cryosurgery, i had to see the doctor for my biopsy results. not exactly the most stress-free thing one can do on a Monday afternoon. to make it worse, the regular nurse was no longer working with my doctor. damn. i liked her. in her place was this annoying, overweight, squeaky-whispery-voiced middle aged woman who reminded me *exactly* of this drama queen i work with. ugh. great.

cue surgery day.

now, it's called "surgery" because things are removed (i think that's what makes something officially surgery...that tissue is removed or something), but it's really the doctor sticking a rod that's cold to the point of intense burning on my cervix. woo-fucking-hoo.

i was tense and grumpy and nurse Barbie only made things worse. first, we have to hike upstairs because that's where the "cryo-machine" is. how cute. they've nicknamed it. well, much to my surprise, a fucking cryo-machine is nothing more than a tank of some kind of frozen gas with a hose/gun looking thing connected to it. well, thank god i'm getting operated on with the fucking flinstones. my mood was getting terribly sour as she carted this archaic-as-fuck machine into the "operating room" and then proceded to think aloud about how to use it. when she was done carting fellow nurses and other unwelcomed guests through my room in an effort to learn how to operate the damn machine (oh, no joke), she laughed as she realized how to turn the thing on. how silly of me! just sign this consent, hun.

hun? ha. fuck you, very much. and thanks for reading that doctor language consent form to me. though, if you can't operate that machine from 1922, i doubt you can read either. and no, i guess i don't have any questions since you've already left the room. and what is this paper "smock?" is that for me to change into? sure, why not...i guess nurses don't normally converse with patients about to be frozen to death with Barney Rubble's refrigeration system.

so as i'm dressing, in comes the nurse. no knock. no curtain. and yes, i could see into the hallway. now, for the few boys that are actually reading, let me explain that there is a certain, although strange, courtesy that exists in the exam room of a gyno's office. yes, you get to see my vagina and all that fun stuff, but you still give me the privacy of dressing and undressing alone. this nurse needs to be explained this ettiquette.

any questions hun? i think to myself, umm...i'm thinking about how to report quack doctors and nurses, so maybe you have the number?...but decide rather to simply ask, will it hurt?

oh, no. it should be less of a hassle than the biopsy was, hun!

she fucking said no.


words cannot describe this pain. apparently it's not common for the procedure to hurt, but it's also not unheard of for it to cause intense cramping during the procedure, and for up to 5 hours following it.

that bitch lied.

during the procedure, i cried. no, are you ok? no, it's ok. no, we're almost done! just the broken English of Dr. FuckFace saying, aaahhh, cramping, huh?

when the procedure was over, tears streaming down my cheeks in black rivers of liquidy mascara, i was offerred no tissue. i was given no reassuring smile. i was instead told that it is not uncommon to pass out after the sugery and that i should lay and rest for a while. the doctor snapped off he latex gloves and abruptly left the room.

they left the fucking room.

ah, but the good ol' nurse came back for me! and guess when? yep! when i was changing! thanks Barbie! you fucking rock! here you go, Kristine. bring this to the front desk. see you in a month! she squeaked, her eyes squinting.

there's actually more to the story...involving the doctor on-call who informed me that he had absolutely no medical opinion about my pain, and could suggest nothing. ah, thanks doc! good thing i talked to you! i later realized that his name was familiar because i'd been seen by him a few years back while home on break from college. i needed to switch my birth control pills because the brand i was using was completely eliminating my period. this caused several terrifying pregnancy scares and i needed to put an end to that. explaining this to my stand-in gyno, he replied, i understand. you want to bleed so you feel more like a woman.


of course, i won't sue, but i am really saddened by this experience and troubled that there are doctors out there that likely behave worse. the last section of my consent form said "medicine is not an exact science." eeire, but true. we trust so blindly...


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