Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Call the Police, this man is killing me!

Warning! This note is about a trip to the gynecologist. You men may want to skip it.

I made the mistake of calling my gynecologist, Dr. Calhoun, this morning to tell him that I had been having some issues. He recommended that I come in for an endometrial biopsy. He explained that it is a simple office procedure that only takes about 30 seconds. Oh, and it might be a little painful so I should take 4 Advil before the procedure.

Since I would be going out of town for the next few days, I decided to take advantage of the opening he had this afternoon. In addition to the prescribed 4 Advil, I also took a prescription strength Anaprox because I’ve felt his idea of “a little uncomfortable” during my pap smears. I was expecting “a little painful” to be pretty painful but bearable.

When I arrived, there were very few other patients in the office and they quickly cleared out. In retrospect, I think this might have been by design so they couldn’t hear me screaming.

The nurse came in and took my blood pressure. 110 over 68. If I had known what was coming, I bet it would have been a lot higher. Dr. Calhoun came in and explained the procedure to me. He showed me on his little plastic uterus how he would stick in a tiny innocuous tube to take a sample of the uterus lining. “How does that sound?”, he asked. I grimaced and said, “Just great.” He and the nurse laughed.

I braced myself for the start of the procedure. I got the usual instructions: “Scoot toward me. A little further. A little further. A little further. Spread your knees. A little further. A little further. A little further.” In went the speculum. Yep, familiar with that uncomfortable feeling. Next, I believe he stuck in a full sized vacuum cleaner hose. The tiny tube he had shown me earlier must have been a miniature model for demonstration purposes. I made a few moans and groans. It was, indeed a little painful. When he started vacuuming, the pain increased 400 fold. I arched up off of the table and started screaming. “Stop! Stop! I can’t take it. Please stop.” He continued on, “Just a few more minutes. Hold still” I screamed louder. “PLEASE STOP! GOD, PLEASE STOP! YOU'RE KILLING ME! I CAN’T TAKE THIS! STOP! STOP!” The little nurse, who looked to be about 18, had her eyes as wide as saucers. A knock came at the door. Dr. Calhoun shouted, “Don’t come in.” To me, he said, “I’m almost finished. Just hold on. Don’t move.”

Finally he withdrew the painful instruments and asked if I was okay. I said, “That depends. Are you finished?” He said, “I think I got enough to see what I need to see, but it would be better if I got some more.” I told him I thought he had enough.

He asked me not to tell anyone in the waiting room that I was his doctor because I am sure they could all hear me screaming. Then he said that he knew that it was painful and he told me why he knew.

He said he was in his office one day when his wife burst in. She had just been to her gynecologist. She demanded, “Do you do a procedure called Endometrial Biopsy?” He told her that he does it when it is necessary. Her response was, “Well, your patients hate you.” And she slammed the door, knocking a picture off of the wall.

When I left the office, the receptionist said, “I think Dr. Calhoun should waive your co-pay.” 

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