Gynecology Appointment: Take 2

A heroine in a futuristic lab undergoes a dramatic transformation, surrounded by scientists, as mysterious liquids and energies swirl around her in a high-tech setting.

A few weeks ago, I launched a speculum at my doctor.

Not my proudest Olympic event, but history is written by survivors.

Yesterday was the sequel.

This time it was an endoscopy.

A scenic tour of my ovaries and uterus, plus the forced eviction of an IUD that had the audacity to interfere with my Tamoxifen.

It was only a year old.

We barely got to know each other.

To “get a better picture,” they impaled me with an endoscope attached to a water supply whose sole purpose was to flood the general vicinity.

Welcome to the Big Harbour Tour.

While they snipped, scraped, and tore polyps out of me like mildly annoyed gardeners, I got to watch everything on a screen above my head in full HD. Submarine paparazzi mode.

Attention: objects pn screen appear bigger than they are.

Especially when they are inside you and you are sober.

What I witnessed felt like a National Geographic sci-fi episode.

Giant polyps. Brave aluminium swords.

Tiny saws.

David Attenborough whispering somewhere in my soul.

Then it happened.

That sound.

You know the one.

When you’re drinking a Coke, the straw hits bottom, and suddenly it’s just air and regret.

The water supply ran dry.

And since physics is a cruel but fair god, what goes in must come out.

A 20-shot salute escaped my lower regions.

I laughed.

Laughing triggered more shots.

Artillery fire.

The doctor didn’t flinch. Not even a micro-flinch. This is clearly not her first symphony of trapped air. They swapped the water supply like this happens between coffee breaks, and the Journey to the Center of the Earth resumed.

Forty-five minutes later, final boss: IUD removal.

I was against it.

My oncologist was not. Apparently preventing breast cancer from returning ranks slightly higher than my desire to not bleed again like it’s 1997.

So yes, I get to look forward to bleeding. Again.

But fine. Alive beats aesthetic.

The doctor hands me a towel. “There is some blood.”

Some. Sure.

She tells me to sit up.

Then to stand up slowly.

I stood up.

A tidal wave left my body.

The elevator scene from The Shining would like to formally complain about plagiarism. Blood everywhere.

Floor included.

Possibly adjacent dimensions.

No one was impressed.

Not the doctor.

Not the nurse.

Not the medical establishment at large.

I got dressed, said “until next time” like a deeply unserious person, and left.

Biopsy results arrive February 3rd.

I hate Tamoxifen. It makes you feel like garbage, causes irregular bleeding, and turns your pelvis into a permanent crime scene.

It’s great to be a woman.

Really.

10/10.

Would absolutely recommend this ride to no one.