I received my letter from the gynaecology department a couple of weeks later. An appointment had been made for me to see a gynaecologist. Obviously I jumped for joy when I found this out. Or perhaps I would have if I was unfamiliar with medical professionals being insatiable for getting me in stirrups.
If I had a fiver for every time I had to be medically fondled with a vaginal speculum (a hollow cylinder with a rounded end that is divided into two hinged parts, like a fucking duck’s beak) I could have bought a house by now. But c’est la vie.
The gynaecologist I was referred to was a very composed man. His nurse was incredibly sweet and did everything she possibly could to make me as comfortable as possible. Unfortunately my predisposition for using humour to deflect my discomfort was not something she was familiar with. I had a full exam, and tissue samples were taken. This was so fucking uncomfortable. I could literally feel the tissue tearing as samples were taken. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and the lovely nurse asked me how I was feeling. I promptly notified her I was having a lovely time. This made her very uncomfortable but amused the gynaecologist.
I had an ultra sound of my ovaries and uterus. This was fascinating. I was devastated I couldn’t take a photo of the image. Again the nurse became very concerned I believed I was pregnant. And even more so when I asked the gynaecologist if I had the largest ovaries he had ever seen. He explained he couldn’t possibly disclose that information, but his eyes said yes. The average ovary is measures approximately 3-5 cm in length. Mine were engorged to 11cm and 14cm. Pretty impressive, right? Thank you poly cystic ovarian syndrome!
The gynaecologist seemed to be increasingly concerned the longer he was rummaging. He asked if he could take additional samples. I told him to help himself and it was all over in about half an hour.
He made it very clear that he would ensure my conditions would get treated and he would make all necessary referrals, however he needed to eliminate the chance of it being anything more serious first. If I received a letter from my doctors, all was well and my condition would be treated. If I received a letter from the hospital, we would be looking at something far more sinister. So I went on my way. Threw up in the toilet on the way out like the classy broad I am and the wait began.