Dr B

My reproductive organs had been tugged out.  Part of my vagina had been cut out.  I had been stitched up like cushion.  I was injecting myself daily, my entire stomach was a mass of bruises, but the thing I was upsetting me most was the thought of having to go to the doctors.

I have never had very good luck when it came to doctors.  I’ve moved location a lot in my life which means often I see new GPs and my notes are rarely read, my pain was always diminished, my records were lost.  But my oncologist had insisted I visited to get my stitches checked by my GP.  Obviously I wasn’t able to get an appointment with my GP, so I couldn’t have that saccharine “I fucking told you I was sick” moment, so I took an appointment with the only available doctor.

Throughout this whole experience, this was one of the luckiest breaks I received.  I walked in to meet Dr B at the medical centre.  The warmth she radiated was unbelievable.  She had read through all of my notes and was unbelievably supportive.  I have never had a more positive experience in a medical setting.  She suggested I only saw her so she could follow my recovery.  I was absolutely delighted by this.

The anxiety this alleviated was unbelievable.   I genuinely don’t think I could have coped if I had been met with the GP experience I had grown accustomed to.

I felt so unbelievably fortunate.

 

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