Here I am, sitting in the car. On my way to change my life—my whole life. I’m trying not to think about anything, to keep myself busy so I don’t get anxious. I know that in a few hours, a process will begin that I’ll remember forever. A positive decision for my family and my current situation, but—reluctantly—a negative decision that I’ll never forget, one that will be etched in my memory for the rest of my life, and one that may take me quite a while to get over mentally. With all the pros and cons of this action, there’s no winning decision. I simply have to do what’s best for me at this point in my life.
I met with the receptionist; I’m getting more and more nervous, anxious, and emotional. Even trying to think about something else or keeping myself busy by reading doesn’t work anymore. I’m in this cozy little waiting room, but I feel cold. I know the big moment is coming.
They call my name; it takes all my courage to get up. I was expecting to see the doctor, but not yet. A whole new level of stress sets in. I meet with a counselor who’s a sex therapist. She asks me about my decision, explains my options, and even offers birth control for afterward.
I go back to sit in a second waiting room until a nurse calls me again. She has me use the restroom and change into the beautiful blue gown. I sit on a bed and wait. Waiting—when you don’t know what’s coming—feels like an eternity. Even though I’ve been waiting through several steps already, it still isn’t any easier.
Finally, it’s time to go into a private room—the room where everything is going to happen. The nurse tells me the results of the urine test. She explains what’s going to happen and goes over the options in detail depending on what we do or don’t see. She begins her tests. I just lie there without reacting, not really wanting to hear anything. After a few minutes, she explains the results to me and asks me not to move (as if I could), then she goes to let the doctor know we’re ready and to discuss the test results with him.
My partner was with me throughout every step, but unfortunately, he was never in the rooms with me. At that moment, I was alone, staring at the tiles on the ceiling. I was cold; my brain and my heart were in survival mode. Both had shut everything out—they heard but didn’t listen, they knew there was pain but didn’t feel it.
After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, the nurse returned, followed by the doctor. She explained that it was too early to perform the procedure at home. They could do it surgically, but since it was still early, they’d prefer that I come back in a few weeks to ensure a conclusive result.
It took me days to think it over, weigh the options, look at it from every angle, and try to find ways to “work things out.” After I’d made my decision and laid out a plan, they told me it wasn’t possible to follow my plan. I can’t even think straight; I’m not in a position to discuss this with my partner. Alone on this cold bed, with two strangers who’ve just thrown my plans into disarray, I have to make a decision that will have mental and physical repercussions for the rest of my life.
So I decide to tell them a little more about my situation and the reasons behind my choice, and they tell me they have a possible procedure, but since it’s still early on, it’s not 100% guaranteed. If the procedure isn’t completely successful, I’ll have to come back in a few weeks for the full surgical procedure. All I want is for this whole nightmare to end. I don’t want to be here anymore; I don’t want to overthink things, and I certainly don’t want to dwell on my decision.
So I’ve decided to go ahead with it right away. In the worst-case scenario, I’ll have to come back, but I can’t back out because I don’t know if I’ll be able to go through with it a second time. With the support and guidance of this wonderful team, I’ve managed to make some decisions.
To be continued…