A Momentous Day

I was introduced to Dr Sarah Grey by a dear friend of mine, Carole, to whom I am everlastingly grateful. Carole, here are the details as requested.

We’re (nearly) all women here, so men – look away. Alternatively, file it for future reference when your wife/girlfriend is weeping over the dinner for no accountable reason.

I have adenomyosis, a condition that means as I get older my periods are increasingly painful. As in chronic cramps. Last week they were so bad I couldn’t speak (brief interlude of bliss for Himself) and had to cancel two writing meetings. Unheard of. My GP has tried various solutions, I’ve had scans galore and seen a gynaecologist but nothing worked so the alternative was to have a coil fitted under general anaesthetic (I’ve had two GPs try and fail: my cervix is too narrow) or a hysterectomy.

Then Carole told me about Dr Grey who is a specialist in women’s health. Music to my ears, I can tell you. I got a referral to see her in a month’s time but last week, by Friday, I was reduced to a weeping, cramping hormonal wreck. I rang Dr Grey who said she could see me privately on Monday. At a cost. By that time, frankly, I would have sold the house, and Himself was getting increasingly worried about his doubled up wife.

The dear lady did say that if my GP would write me a prescription for a coil, that would save me £100. Luckily my GP is lovely and she did. So at 9am yesterday I went to the chemist to pick it up. They couldn’t find it. Great, I thought. Finally, she said cheerfully, ‘Oh I didn’t realise it was on the Top Shelf,’ and handed me a large item in a carrier bag.

I looked inside and saw a two foot long cardboard box.
I thought, Oh My God, and my insides sort of slid away in terror. Brave faced, I returned to the car with a smile. ‘Guess what? I didn’t have to pay!’ I said.

Himself looked at the package and went white. I looked at the package and felt sick.

‘I expect there’s a prodder in there,’ I said faintly.

Himself went even whiter, if that was possible, and started the car engine. We drove home in silence.

Thankfully that was the worst bit. Dr Grey was kind, compassionate and watched me carefully, assessing me as she tapped details into her laptop. She’s clever, thoughtful and sincere and explained all my options, adding, ‘surgery is the very Last Resort.’ Further music to my ears.

The procedure itself was painless and quick. (I won’t got into details, you’ll be glad to hear.) She fitted it without a problem and later, she smiled and said, ‘I can hear the relief in your voice.’

Relief? I nearly burst into tears and hugged her. But I didn’t. People tend to get embarrassed at my ability to blub at a second’s notice. She then went on to explain how she will now look after me and my problematical womb on the NHS right through the menopause and whatever else ensues.

I did cry then. Just a little leakage. I couldn’t help it. Himself did too when I told him. What a relief to find someone like Dr Grey. My Angel Gabriel – er no, wrong sex. My Joan of Arc. Or something. Whatever, the prospect of actually getting through each month without having to write off several days in crippling agony is wonderful to imagine.

So if any of you out there are suffering, there are plenty of avenues to try. Ask for a referral. Ask some more. Make a nuisance of yourself. It’s worth it.

When we finally got home we had a phone call from the girls asking if we’d like to come over for a drink and see their wedding album which had just arrived.

We were so chuffed to be invited and went over for an hour to catch up, have a glass of wine and pore over the photos which are wonderful.

All in all, a momentous day.