Panic at the disco
After the mandatory counseling session, came the screechy, wrinkly, yenta, morphine counselor: Dr. JewyGoldenBergSteinBlatt. She was a terse cunt. Her job, I think, was to counsel me on the effects of the sedation. She would smack her lips in between talking and cock her head to the side. Pursing her little lamprey mouth while I spoke.
In a snippy tone she “explained” :
“If you’re nervous the sedation makes you forget the pain. But its not a painkiller. You’re not that far along so you could do the sedation or not. It will make you pretty sick but its up to you.”
This freaked me out because when my mother came out of a surgery a couple years ago she was was in total agony with nausea and vomiting for several hours after the operation. After being through weeks of physical torment, the idea of willingly increasing my nausea and ache seemed insane to me.
I asked her if she thought that the costs of the sedation would outweigh the benefits.
“That’s up to you.” She had all the concern and warmth of a DMV bureaucrat.
I’m not sure what the fucking training is like in planned parenthood but they are fucking shit-show when it comes to giving pro’s and con’s to anything. The emphasis is a woman’s emotional state rather than just answering straight forward medical questions. Find a fucking balance, people! Fuck this is pisses me off to no end!!! The anger, it burns!
I was hurried out of that room. Put back in the waiting room for an hour watching girl after girl leave the back office with crackers, water, a paper bag with the soppository they would be taking that night.
After a whopping 5 fucking hours wait I was called into the exam room to have the procedure.
I figured out that of the 36 or so women in the room about 30 were taking the pill leaving just about 6 of us to get the hose. We happy few who were getting the surgery had to wait until every one else had taken the pill. Why? I have no clue. Please email me if you have insider intel.
Then they called my name, I flashed a sideways peace sign to my mom —Diddy style —and off I went.
They put me in a hallway with three chairs. The hallway was not lit and it was silent. I sat next to the older sobbing blonde woman. She was calm and Polish. I asked her if she was having the surgery. She said yes and explained that she was 15 weeks. I said that I was nervous she said she was nervous too. Then they called her in.
Then I got fist fucked by my own emotions. I was absolutely terrified that something was going to wrong and I was mad at myself for being in this position. As much as I like breaking it off raw and as much as I hate the petty amount of weight gain that the Ring has put on my body none of it was worth the level of fear and anxiety that I felt at the moment (looking back now, if for some reason I had to do this again which I don’t plan to, I don’t think I would flinch).
I was mostly terrified the idea of some one manually opening my cervix. Then having an contraption shoved inside of me. Now at this point I had totally psyched myself out and considered going home and doing it another week at a private clinic where I could avoid the wait, the protesters, and slip into general anesthetisia.
They called me into the operating room. A very friendly nurse saw that I was crying and spoke to me in a soft soothing voice. She looked at my chart and then quizzically said “You’re getting the sedation…?”
Exasperated, I said “I don’t know. I don’t know if its a good idea. What do you think???”
She said “You can talk to the doctor about it.”
Ughhhhh!! Then she made a sudden movement as I was looking down at my feet. She had covered “the machine” and explained “it makes some women nervous looking at it”
I sat on the table. Naked from the waste down and just stared the sheathed machine. And the wave of hysteria hit. I just kept thinking
“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! THIS IS GOING TO HURT AND THE NOISE WILL RING IN MY EARS! AND IT WILL HURT AND IT WILL SUCK! AND HOW THE FUCK CAN I GET OUT OF THIS!!”
Panic, panic, panic.
This is the same reaction I had when I broke my arm and they tried to set it. My wrist was backwards and my ulna was twisted around my radius but I was so scared of the pain of setting it that I tried to convince the doctor to leave it.
So I’m shaking and crying and wanting to run away and there under the sheet is this thing that will put my life back together but also cause me serious pain.
And then a black male doctor walks in the room and is all business willing to put up with none of my tearful bullshit.
