I felt a sudden, excruciatingly familiar sharp pain in my gut. I called my doctor, and anxiety began to build inside me; I already knew what she was going to say.
I compartmentalized my anxiety, getting into a strictly factual mindset, preparing for what was to come.
As expected, my doctor told me I needed to go to the emergency room.
My anxiety controlled my physiological reactions, yet my mind stayed sharp and logical.
With my husband by my side, I could face anything.
We arrived at the hospital, and there was no one in the waiting room; it was very quiet. I was glad that at least they were not busy.
The check-in process was fairly straightforward. Weight, blood pressure, temperature, the routine questions of "what brings you in", etc.
I explained to the triage nurse the pain I was having, and that my doctor sent me. I explained that I had a recent history of ruptured ovarian cysts, the last time with ovarian torsion, and that this felt identical to those other times.
The triage nurse took note of everything, and escorted us back to the room where I would be seen by a doctor.
The triage nurse instructed me to remove my shirt and bra, and to put on the hospital gown.
I then sat on the narrow hospital bed, while my husband sat in the chair, and we waited.
It was so quiet.
After some time, a different nurse came in with the items for setting up an IV.
I looked at the nurse nervously and asked if it was necessary, since all I should have needed was an ultrasound.
The nurse simply stated that she had to.
Reluctantly, I explained to the nurse that my veins are very difficult. That even if the nurse tried, she may not succeed at getting blood out of me, let alone get a successful IV into me.
The nurse asked to try, and I agreed, hoping this time would be different.
It wasn't different.
The nurse apologized and said she'd send someone else.
Unease started to grow inside me, as I sat with my husband in the quiet hospital. He was so attentive and reassuring; it was the only thing that kept my anxiety at bay.
We waited for a long time.
It was so quiet.
Finally, the doctor came into the room. A female, with a very busy energy coming off of her in waves.
I flinched back mentally, unsure as to why the doctor seemed to make my unease worse.
I shook it off.
The doctor told me to lay down so she could examine my stomach. I tried to explain to her where the pain was, but she cut me off, asking me if I've ever had surgery on my abdomen.
My unease grew.
I told her that I no longer have a uterus, cervix, or fallopian tubes. I told her that I had a c-section years ago...
I got cut off again as the doctor answered her ringing phone, while continuing to press robotically in all the wrong places on my stomach; never apologizing or even acknowledging how unprofessional she was being.
The doctor stepped back, hung up her phone, and was about to leave. Ignoring me.
She then stopped and absentmindedly said to me, "So, no abdominal surgeries?"
I was dumbfounded as I corrected her, "Um, no, plenty actually..."
I had to explain all over again that I had a c-section, and a hysterectomy, and other surgeries before that because I had CIN3.
The doctor cut me off again, seemingly annoyed now, and asked, "What's CIN3?"
I looked at her, baffled, and tried to say, "Cervical Intraepithelial Neoplasia, Grade 3", but got cut off again halfway through saying Intraepithelial, by her saying, "Oh. I've just never heard it called that before."
I was irritated with the doctor now, and said, "Well that's all that medical professionals ever called it around me."
She ignored me again, and rushed out the door.
The unease I felt got much more intense.
After another long wait in the too quiet hospital emergency room, a new nurse came in. This nurse told me that she needed to start an IV because the doctor wanted to do a CT scan.
I asked why, since a simple ultrasound would have worked just fine for the problem I was having.
The nurse didn't answer my question, but proceeded to try to convince me to just do it.
I explained that, though I'm not a doctor, I do know my body and my repeated experience with this particular issue, and an ultrasound always works to see and diagnose it.
Not to mention the lack of radiation with an ultrasound.
I continued to ask... Since my veins wouldn't cooperate, and we could save time and resources and money, why wouldn't they do the ultrasound? I even said that if they HAD to, AFTER the ultrasound (IF it was somehow a different issue than the one that was being presented), that I'd do the cat scan.
But ONLY if it was absolutely necessary.
The nurse left, and we waited once again.
The quiet didn't help my unease.
After awhile, the doctor barged back into the room.
She looked at me and said with a bit of a sneer, "So the nurse tells me you're refusing treatment."
"No. I'm not." I said, caught off guard by the doctor's aggressive statement.
I said that I was willing to do an ultrasound, and only if it came back negative would I do the other tests.
My unease flaired.
I added that I didn't want to waste time and resources and money unnecessarily.
The doctor glared at me and told me I was going to be there for the next few hours, so I may as well just get the blood work done in that time.
Not bothering to explain that I was referring to the doctor's time to use wisely, not my own time, I explained again that I know my body and getting blood drawn is such an ordeal; why would I put myself through that unnecessarily?
She seemed exasperated and said that even if the ultrasound came back how I said it probably would, she'd still want my blood. That it was just practicing good medicine.
I asked why. They never needed my blood before for this.
She said if it was worse, that if the ovary was torsed, they'd need blood.
I told her it WAS torsed the last time.
She said that rupturing and torsion are different things.
I told her it was both.
She said, "Look I'm not calling you a liar, but..."
I cut her off this time. "Do you want to go look at my records? Because it's all in there."
I continued to explain to the doctor what happened to me, and she just stubbornly attacked everything I said.
She stared me down and said, "If you're worried about me being able to draw blood, I can go between your legs right now and take it from your groin."
There was so much aggression in her voice and words, that I physically flinched back this time.
My husband sat forward in his seat. He did NOT like the way this doctor was treating me.
It was too much. I quietly said, "Um. NO." Unable to think of anything else.
She threatened me.
She threatened me.
I quickly said that I would think about getting the other tests done, as she left the room.
The second she was gone, panic flooded through me. It was difficult to think clearly, though not impossible.
I kept whispering, "I don't want to be here. I want to go home." Over and over.
I turned to my husband, the unease coursing through my veins at full force now, and begged for us to go.
I couldn't stay another minute.
I felt UNSAFE.
Something was very wrong. I didn't know what it was, but my instincts were SCREAMING at me to RUN.
After promising my husband that if the pain got worse I'd go to another hospital, I threw on my bra and shirt as fast as I could.
As I was trying to get out of that room, a man pushing an empty wheelchair stood outside my door.
The ultrasound tech, I assumed.
I wouldn't be stopped now. I scrambled to say, "I can't.. I just can't.. I have to go!"
As I bolted, I avoided eye contact with everyone; desperate to escape.
I felt like I was in a horror movie, my adrenaline pumping hard, just wanting to feel safe again.
Once in the car, I apologized to my husband over and over. He was so reassuring and nurturing, telling me that I had nothing to apologize for.
I can't explain it. I don't know what it was. There was something very wrong with that doctor.
I WASN'T SAFE.
I know it's not rational. I knew logically, as it was all happening, that there was no reason for me to be afraid.
But my instincts were SCREAMING. I knew something very bad would have happened to me if I didn't get out right when I did.
And I've LEARNED not to ignore my instincts.
