OB-GYN
I’m sick. Another woman woman is pregnant.
Why are we going to the same OB-GYN when our situations are so different?Why am I, having endured such excruciating period pain and even fallen ill because of it, just going to die without gaining anything in return?
In the waiting room of a hospital in Paris, it suddenly occurs to me.
The OB-GYN lumps together people who are happy with those who are unhappy. It’s a department where all kinds of people gather―pregnant women, those undergoing fertility treatment, people seeking abortions, transgender individuals, people with sexually transmitted infections, victims of sexual assault, and cancer patients. It’s a department of life and death, joy and despair.
I once visited a OB-GYN in Hong Kong.
It was because I was diagnosed with HPV (human papillomavirus), and changes in my cells led to the discovery of precancerous lesions known as “dysplasia.” Simply put, this is a condition that could potentially develop into cervical cancer in the future.
When I went to ask the doctor to get the results of a medical checkup, she presented me with a photo that clearly showed the area teeming with bacteria.
The doctor said that even if it were cancerous, it could be cured with surgery. She continued that HPV is a very common virus; it is said that more than 50%―or the vast majority of women who have ever had sexual intercourse―will become infected at least once in their lifetime. Even if infected, the virus clears up naturally and disappears in the vast majority of cases, about 90%, thanks to the body’s immune system.
I was not among that vast majority. I found myself thinking about that man―the one I was no longer in contact with. No, it had been all my own decision.
The doctor added that when the immune system weakens due to overwork, lack of sleep, mental stress, or environmental changes, it becomes easier for the virus to take hold and lead to a persistent infection―but by then, I had stopped listening to what she was saying.
I remember that day, after the doctor’s explanation, I went to a Chinese Mandarin school that I attended, staggering slightly as I carried a large plastic bag containing a huge X-ray image―something I knew was pointless to keep. Normally, I would chat with some students in the course before heading home, but that day, as soon as class ended, I left the classroom as if I were fleeing. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to be asked anything.
The very day I heard the result, I cut off contact with all my friends.
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Back then, I was barely managing to go to work and put on a brave face as if nothing was wrong―that was all I could do.
After I got home from work, I searched Google on my smartphone for every possible keyword related to the disease―the causes, surgery, chances of recovery, and survival rates. I spent the whole night frantically searching about the illness. I was searching for a glimmer of hope. Just when I thought I’d found some a reason for optimism, I’d come across a reason for pessimism. That constant back-and-forth left me physically and mentally exhausted. In the end, morning came, and I was still in the dark.
If surgery becomes necessary, it apparently involves cutting out the infected area in a bowl-like shape. The surgery itself is quick and is often performed as an outpatient procedure or requires only a few days of hospitalization.
An article stated that there’s no need to give up on pregnancy and childbirth regardless of whether or not you undergo surgery. Are you not supposed to give up on pregnancy and childbirth??? I found myself more sensitive to these kinds of topics than usual.
I also came across a blog by a Japanese woman who ended up having surgery in China. She was suffering just as I was. She described her journey―going to the hospital while working, then taking two days off and undergoing surgery. The fact that her most recent post was from three years ago, and the blog hadn’t been updated since the surgery, only added to my anxiety.
There was a vaccine for cervical cancer, but regarding the cervical cancer vaccine in Japan, due to the “suspension of active recommendations,” we faced a unique situation―unparalleled anywhere in the world―where “preventable cancers” are not being prevented, and many young people are at risk of losing their lives or their uteruses.
I hadn’t even known that fact.
Just like with AIDS, I had felt something apocalyptic about diseases transmitted through an act like sex. After all, you can’t get HPV unless you have sex.
At the hospital where I went for the detailed examination, the first visit ended up being just a consultation with a general practitioner. I repeated to her what I’d said countless times before over the phone, at the reception desk, and in person―“I’m here for this and that reason; my symptoms are as follows, and these are the results. Please give me a thorough examination.” Then, as expected, I was sent to see a specialist. And finally, it was decided that I would undergo the detailed examination at my next appointment. I would be finally able to go to the OB-GYN.
In the OB-GYN’s waiting room, there were many women―some alone, some accompanied by a partner, and some with children. Naturally, no one was looking at me. Everyone at the OB-GYN was completely focused on their own issues.
My name was called, and I went into the exam room. I repeated to the doctor what I’d said countless times before. I was told to get right up on the exam table.
The doctor inserted a speculum into my vagina to widen the opening. At that point, it hurt like hell. The pain didn’t let up, and as soon as I felt a sharp twinge inside, I felt something piercing me like a thick needle was being stabbed right into my uterus.
I’ve remembered. There was someone else there.
What was weird was that a Japanese-speaking interpreter was there. She translated what the doctor was saying.
Above all, it was just ridiculous to take off my underwear and spread my legs in front of strangers. It’s also ridiculous that the machine is designed to automatically spread our legs.
The interpreter would translate the doctor’s instructions―like “We’ll take a biopsy from the nine o’clock position (the far left from the doctor’s perspective),” “Does it hurt?” “Please bear with it a little longer,” or “Just a little more to go” with such dramatic emotion.
I wasn’t quite sure what purpose she served―it was almost like having a man present during childbirth.
I wonder if the reason I remembered all that again at a hospital in another country is simply because it’s now in the past.
