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For more than a week, the pain was unbearable. Every time I got up from the bed, it pained, just pained. I cried, consoling myself that all this pain would lead to a bundle of joy in my arms soon.
Trigger Warning: This deals with infertility and hospital related anxiety, and may be triggering for survivors.
“GOOD NEWS”
Those two scary words began to haunt me after two years into marriage. We consulted a doctor, who happened to be a close friend of my mother. All the test results seemed good and there weren’t any issues that literally prevented me from being a mother. The doctor suggested supplements and other hormone tablets that would help us in the process. They named us, “Unexplained Infertility”.
A year went by. With no option left, we had to stand in front of another fertility hospital. Over a period of two years, my life was filled with tablets, scans, reports, injections, and pregnancy test kits.
I felt like a walking talking hospital. I stood before the mirror. A moment of introspection.
“Were you the child who began to shed tears at the sight of seeing an injection even before the needle neared you?”
Yes, now it had become my routine and I welcomed pain with open arms just to carry a baby there. The family pressure too kept increasing day by day.
Do this, do that, then pregnancy would be confirmed. Yes, I did all the possible ‘dos’ on Earth.
Suggestions kept pouring in from known and unknown people. Finally, we met with a gynaecologist who had the tag ‘lucky charm’ embedded in her name. It meant no couple walked out of the hospital without holding a baby.
Is it a trick?
She reviewed our records.
“Next week let’s plan for laparoscopy.”
Let me say here that I do have PCOS with an irregular menstrual cycle. But I have also heard from my previous doctors that it isn’t a barrier to pregnancy.
“Doctor, may I know why?”
Three junior doctors immediately looked at me, appalled.
Shouldn’t I question back?
“A few pricks in the cysts and then you will conceive normally in the next month.” Those were the golden words we wanted to hear.
“Don’t be scared. It is a minor process. You can walk in at morning and leave in the evening. After two days you can get back to work.”
Thanking her we left the room, as those were the few minutes that were allotted to us. She talks to every patient for not more than 5 mins.
We ended up at the reception paying the entire amount and walked out with hope.
The day arrived and the procedure was done. I was given general anaesthesia. I opened my eyes a long time after entering the room. My vision was clearly clouded and felt like the whole room was revolving around me. I tried to talk with my husband.
Late that night I began to scream in pain. We were informed the doctor would return only the next day and wasn’t sure of the time.
I couldn’t sit or sleep. I wasn’t supposed to be given food until the next day morning. With no other option, the nurses sedated me to sleep.
Wasn’t I promised that I would leave for home the same day?
The next afternoon, the doctor came in and said we could leave, and told us to be back in a week. For more than a week, the pain was unbearable. Every time I got up from the bed, it pained, just pained. I cried, consoling myself that all this pain would lead to a bundle of joy in my arms soon.
We went there with so many hopes on the day we were called in next A junior doctor (Madam is the only senior doctor in the hospital) took us to another room and said we could proceed with the IVF treatment.
We both stared at each other in horror.
If we had chosen IVF, then I would have walked into one and not undergone this surgery.
“The reason is that if we do IVF just after this surgery, there is a ninety percent chance of success. Please don’t worry about the charges. You are lucky to have a discount.”
My head began to swirl without anaesthesia. My husband was furious but I knew fighting wasn’t going to change anything. I shushed him and we walked out.
I needed time to heal from what had happened. We had fallen into a trap.
I informed my husband to pause all our processes. He obliged.
Everything comes with a price. No pain, no gain. I had enough pain, but what had I gained?
A distended abdomen.
Ah, just drink ginger water.
No!
I still suffer. I cannot eat my favourite foods. A line was drawn before me. Before every bite, I have to see if it would suit me. Sometimes it is trial and error. When it resulted in an error, the pain and uneasiness traveled beyond words.
If ever my close circle of people asks me for advice about pregnancy or the procedures or hospitals, I simply say, “I ain’t the right person to answer”.
Editor’s note: Women regularly face #MedicalMisogyny from health care professionals. For the WHO World Health Day 2023 theme of ‘Health for All’, identifying this misogyny and ensuring #Equity in healthcare is essential. All of April, we will be sharing stories with you on this these, either personal stories or fiction. Find them all here.
Image source: Pocket Films/ YouTube
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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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