Just spoke to the office manager at my gynecologist’s office. I told her about yesterday’s conversation and… she didn’t say anything at all negative about the woman (who, it turns out, is the triage nurse), but she did sound completely unsurprised. I got an “oh boy” and a resigned sort of sigh. I don’t think this is the first time she’s heard a complaint against this particular employee. The nurse will be spoken with, and the manager will talk to the doctor about it (and my hysto questions). I should get a call back tomorrow. The manager was extremely nice and I’m glad I had the guts to make the complaint. Now I hope I never, ever have to talk to the nurse again. Ever. I hate confrontations, even polite ones.
When I saw my gynecologist two months ago, she said I might want to consider a hysterectomy because I rarely have periods and can’t take hormones to fix it. She said to call her if I wanted it. I thought about it a lot, and decided yes. So I called Friday and left a message asking for a referral.
The woman who called me back today with the doctor’s name made me feel awful. Apparently the doc forgot our conversation and wrote the referral as being for transgender-related reasons and not medical. I told the office person about the medical conversation, and she didn’t believe me because the doc hadn’t put it in her notes. And then she started grilling me about why didn’t I use a gyn who lives near me (because I want one who knows about trans issues, dammit), and how I don’t really need a hysterectomy because I can take hormones, and then wouldn’t believe me when I said hormone changes have made me suicidal and psychotic in the past. Finally she said she’d talk to the doctor, but by that point I was crying because she was acting like I didn’t know what I was talking about. Note that this was an office worker, not a doctor, and she had no fucking right to behave like that on the telephone. Maybe I’m extra-sensitive because I didn’t get any sleep, but what the hell? I’m telling the doctor next time I go in. Fuck.
I went to the gynecologist this afternoon. Forty miles there, forty back, for a five minute appointment. I drive that far because she works a lot with transgender patients (handles HRT and such) and so is sensitive towards my dysphoria over having my crotch and chest examined.
Everything seems to be okay except for the fact that I continue to have extremely irregular periods. I’ve had two this year. I went two years without having one at all, until last summer. I argued with the doctor about it.
Her: You need to have periods every 60 days. Maybe 90 at the most. I’ll give you ten days of progesterone to jump start a period next month.
Me: Um, female hormones make me suicidal and/or psychotic.
Her: But you really need to get rid of the uterine lining. It can cause cancer in twenty years if you don’t shed it.
Me: No hormones. I don’t want to kill myself.
Her: Well, maybe now that you’re more stable on your psych meds…?
Me: I was completely stable before the last time I took progesterone. A low dose made me start hoarding psych meds with plans to kill myself.
Her: Maybe we should start thinking about a hysterectomy. I’d leave the ovaries in.
I’m seriously considering it. I’ve thought about having one before, many times. Maybe I should just bite the bullet and get the malfunctioning equipment removed. Goodness knows, periods make my dysphoria even worse…