Chapter 4
Celeste
It’s never fun to go to the OB/GYN. Ever. I’m happy I made this appointment not long after I got released anyway at the infirmary nurse’s insistence, because the pain is getting to the point where it is starting to interfere with my day to day life. The over-the-counter meds are not helping as much as I need. I’m hoping against hope this new doctor can provide some relief.
After waiting for half an hour, I’m brought back to the examination room. It’s not long after that when the doctor walks in with a warm smile on her face and her hand outstretched.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Naraya,” she says in a smooth, low voice.
“Celeste Martino,” I reply, shaking her hand.
“What brings you in today, Celeste?”
“My period pains have become more severe over the past few months, even hurting when I don’t have my period. The nurse who first saw me about it is convinced it’s endometriosis and urged me to get seen by an OB/GYN,” I explain. She nods and takes a bunch of notes.
“Were you given any medication for it?” she asks.
“Just over-the-counter pain meds,” I tell her. She nods and makes more notes.
“On a scale of 1-10, 10 being the highest, how do you rate your pain?”
“On a better day, maybe 3 or 4, during my period, a 5 or 6,” I say.
“What about family history? Does endometriosis run in your family?” she inquires without looking up from her notes.
“I’m not sure, I never really knew my family,” I tell her baldly. She looks up then, concern creasing her brow. She runs a hand through her dark ponytail, bringing it over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she replies quietly. I shrug it off the way I always do when it comes to talking about my birth family.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, I know these are standard questions. I wish I knew if I have a family history of anything. If it helps, my periods have always been painful, it’s just become worse in the past few months,” I say. She nods again, making more notes.
“Has there been any additional stress or potential triggers that coincide with the pain getting worse?” I lift my chin, preparing to get judged by her. I need to be honest though, if it’ll help her ease this pain.
“I was incarcerated for a few months before I was released about five weeks ago. It was the nurse at the infirmary who urged me to make this appointment. That was when the pain started getting worse.” She nods in understanding.
“I’d say that’s a stressful trigger,” she murmurs, flipping a page to scan my paperwork. “What about hormone treatment? It looks like you’ve been on a relatively low dose birth control pill?”
“I was afraid to switch to something stronger while I was in prison in case I had bad side effects,” I explain. “The nurse mentioned getting a stronger dose or a hormone IUD could help the symptoms.” She nods decisively.
“I’m definitely going to prescribe you a much higher dose to see if it helps, or we could do the IUD if you’d prefer.”
I wince.
“I have no health insurance right now, so I think the pills will be the cheaper option.” She makes a sound of agreement. After making more notes, she asks me to get into the papery gown she hands me and leaves me to change. When she comes back in she has me get onto the exam table, and then it’s that awful, vulnerable moment of putting my feet in the stirrups. Is there anything more awkward than having a complete stranger examine your lady bits?
The paper gown and the paper underneath me on the table rustle as I shift uncomfortably. Bright overhead lighting beats down on me and makes me feel overexposed. It’s a woman who wants to help me that’s going to be touching me there, I say in my head over and over again. She’s not going to hurt me.
I tense anyway as she starts her exam, but I manage to breathe through it and will myself to relax. She’s gentle and efficient, and before I know it she’s done.
“I’m not seeing anything out of the ordinary, which is good news. We’ll have the pap smear results back soon and you’ll get a call. I’m going to get the ultrasound machine to take a much better look at what is going on, ok? Sit tight and I’ll be right back in.”
I nod before she heads out, quickly returning with the machine. The ultrasound is slightly more invasive than theexam, but not completely uncomfortable. I’m trying to read her expression, but it’s pretty impassive as she works. When she finishes and cleans up, she leaves to let me get dressed. After a couple of minutes, she knocks to come back in.
“What’s the verdict?” I ask her, nerves shooting through me like tiny lightning strikes.
“There is tissue on your fallopian tubes, and I spotted a few lesions. I would put you at six points, which is the beginning of Stage II. You’ve probably always had it at a low Stage 1, but it’s progressed due to your recent stress,” she explains, her warm eyes empathetic.
“Will a higher dose of hormones help when it’s that stage?” I ask.
