Going on the advice of Dr. Nguyen, I made an apt. with my gynecologist. First I walk in and didn't see his usual secretary. I found out later that her husband dumped her and although this woman looks like a Hollywood goddess and is sweet as can be, she's had a mental breakdown and can't work. This jerk probably doesn't deserve two minutes of her time and getting a new guy for her would simply involve stepping out the front door.
She was my hero when I had CVS done for Davina at 10 weeks back in the summer of 2003. I called the lab in Nice to ask about payment (since I was still on my United insurance so wouldn't be billed the same way) and the secretary down there says that they sent the results that day. Unfortunately, they send the results to the Dr. who does the procedure, not the patient's gyenologist. Turns out, it was right before lunch and the guy at the hospital who did my test had gone to lunch...with the information on whether my child was normal or not, in his briefcase.
Now, logically, I immediately deducted, if the results hadn't been normal, I'd like to think that he would have called my gynecologist right away, before going off to eat. Remember, there was no way for him to know that I knew that the tests were in and sent. I just happened to call the lab that day.
Half hysterical, I call Dr. Gikovaty, who is gone but I get Edith who tells me calmly, "I'll take care of it" and boy did she! Edith calls CMCO (the hospital) and got someone to track the doctor down. The simply told him that the patient knows he had the results and he found a fax machine fast.
Edith calls me back within a half hour. "I have it. Everything's fine. The baby is perfectly normal".
Great! but then the next question..."What is it?"
"You want to know?"
"You have it right in front of you. You know and I don't and I want to know too!"
Big sigh. She really doesn't want to unromantically tell me over the phone but too late!
"It's a girl..." she says defeated.
So Edith is my heroine. Meanwhile, for the first time, she's not there. Both Dr. Gikovaty and his wife, a radiologist who shares the same office, are completely lost. They don't know where anything is. They don't know how to do anything. While they have a temporary replacement, that doesn't really cut it when they can't give her adequate instructions.
What a mess.
I'm late. They don't even notice to start with.
So I sit down to have my chat. Well, someone with a Bigger Problem calls. So I sit through that. Then there is a call to find something else...
I tell him what the problem might be, according to Dr. Nguyen. What's his reaction? "Sharon" I hate that he always calls me that, which is freaky in a country allergic to first names. "This is very common".
Let's get this straight. If I'm the only person on the planet with this or if there are 100 million other women, it doesn't change the fact that I'm suffering from it.
"Okay Sharon, it's nothing méchante" (which is a funky word covering both evil and naughty). Sigh. I know that. I'm not worried about how naughty or evil it is. I just want the symptoms to go away.
Can you do anything? Was Dr. Nguyen right? Are all these symptoms connected?
Turns out, he was right. All the symptoms, the premenstrual stuff, the shorter periods, the water retention are all related to a lack of progesterone. Common, not méchante and easily fixed.
Where's my prescription??
He wants to give me a combo pill, with a diuretic, etc. I'm not thrilled with the idea. "Just progesterone?" Well, logic would have it that if all of the above are caused by a lack of progesterone, and if he gives me progesterone, the other symptoms are going to go away with just that? I wont need the other stuff anyway. I have a "thing" against combo drugs for a number of reasons, both practical and philosophical. Even for colds.
So he wants to do a smear test. We had a big old discussion about that at my annual check-up and he decided to do it next year. Now, just a few weeks later, he's ordering me on the table. "but you said..."
Oh why did I open my big trap. I wanted the test and he talked me out of it. Open mouth, insert foot. Too late! He remembers both our discussion and the other poor patients sitting in the waiting room.
Grrrr... I take my prescription and run, consoling them on their Lack of Edith...
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