5 hours ago
Friday, March 26, 2010
Visit is done! Yeah! And hopefully all tests will be negative and I won't have to go back for a year! I said I'd report out on the visit. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check out Part One and Part Two of White Coat Anxiety.
One of the first things that helped was that I'd made a field trip to the office two weeks before the visit. I'd scouted the location of the building, where the office was inside the building, had checked out the waiting room, and had dropped off the forms I had downloaded from the web. So no worries about where we were going day-of-visit, or what the place would look like when we got there.
I took my Ativan as planned, and gave it time to kick in. I wore what I said I would, took music, a book, and Stitch. Stitch is the curious sort and generally likes strange new things and places, so he was game to come along. He also liked the idea that if anyone was mean to me, he'd get to bite them.
The place is big; sort of a factory, really. In my head I was calling it Tw@ts-R-us. There are sixty five chairs in the waiting room (yes, I counted, since what's an OCD person supposed to do in a waiting room, anyway?), with a lot of floor space. Big room. There are sixteen doctors listed on the various signs, and arrows pointing you to stand in the correct line based on doctor. Factory.
But a nice one, pretty comfortable. Friendly receptionist. Here's where I got my first small surprise. There is no chance you can get all the paperwork filled out ahead of time, even if you ask for it all. They had 'secret' forms waiting for me, which must somehow be special since when I asked two weeks ago if I'd filled out all the forms, they'd said yes. So hubby had to deal with them, since I don't do forms at visits. But I had managed to get the biggest and longest forms finished ahead of time, and dropping those off gave me a chance to see the place. So, not perfect, but better.
The wait was only ten minutes, and we were in. Hubby was with me. The alcohol smell in doctor's offices always puts me on edge. Very triggery, and unless I'm careful it can bring up a flashback. I have to keep telling myself where I am, NOW, right now, so I don't slip out to another incident in the past. But the smell wasn't as bad as at the general doctor, and there were not nearly as many people coughing and all that. So in a way it was easier than gdoc.
This doctor was very nice. Talked to us beforehand, and was very understanding about my diagnoses and what I needed to do to stay comfortable (like hold hubby's hand, have Stitch threaten to bite them, etc.) And then, well, there was the exam itself. There is nothing that makes that part better. It hurts like hell, mentally and physically. For others, I'm sure it isn't like this. But with the endometriosis this procedure is terribly painful. And having to be in that pain, there, when you were abused is nearly insupportable, no matter how much positive-cognitive whatever you've been telling yourself. I always cry hysterically, and this time was in so much pain I bit my hand until it nearly bled. But two minutes of torture, and it was over. I was shaking and had tears all over my face. The doctor did a good job of walking the line between being sympathetic and acting as if this was all normal. Then she gave us a few forms, and we could leave.
There is always that moment after the the obgyn doc has left, and you are standing there in a half-open, too-small robe, in a cold room, 'alone' (hubby was behind curtain at that point). There is no getting over the sensation that you've just been violated and then abandoned. Left to sort of clean yourself up, get dressed, and then go back out into the world as if nothing has happened. That it is all a big secret, like your past. But the sensation went away and I pulled myself together. Then I started to feel pretty happy, because, well, first of all I was going to blog all about it, so it was hardly a secret. That felt good. And second, I had actually done it. All over.
Almost. Of course now that I'm 'of an age' I have to get a mammogram. Haven't had one since I was about 24 years old, when they were looking to see what the cause of my chest pains might be. I certainly remember that having my frontal chest parts shoved between two collapsing plates was really pretty damn painful. And any x-ray procedures make my contamination issues flare. But still, I'll bet it will be easier than having metal shoved up my tw@t.
A few other items of note. I need to bring something I can bite on next time. The place on my hand where I bit myself is a painful, bruised lump the size of a quarter. Also, another success, I didn't have to wash my clothes or purse after I got back. I felt pretty uncontaminated, overall, and only needed to use my towelettes once. And of course, when I got home I asked for flowers and chocolates. So hubby went to the grocery store and came back with flowers and chocolates.
Overall, 100% mission success. Except Stitch was disappointed that the only biting that went on was me biting myself.`
Your Hostess With Neuroses
Image credit/info: My Stitch. Him eyeing my chocolates. Or knowing him, he's thinking of eating my flowers.
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