Patient’s Rights
Years ago, I went to one of my annual doctor visits. I was determined that I wanted a different form of birth control. When it came time to talk about it, he dismissed my suggestions and told me to stay on the pill. I argued that I was constantly forgetting to take the pill - I wanted something I didn’t have to remember as often.
He actually waved his hand at me, closed his eyes and sighed as he said, “Just put them with your toothbrush, and every morning when you brush your teeth, take your pill. If I give you the shot you’ll forget to come in three months from now and in four months you’ll end up pregnant.”
I left the office dissatisfied. I felt like a child who had just been chastised to “just eat your vegetables. They’re not THAT bad!”
Eight months later I was pregnant.
—
I can’t remember if she smiled when she called my name.
I was nervous; prepared to… to what? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what to expect. But I was determined that I knew what I wanted.
The nurse went through her checklist: wieght, blood pressure, pulse. She chatted a bit as she reviewed the notes in my chart. I saw her eyes flicker on me for a split second, something about the pacing of her chatter changed. Her questions took a turn.
“You’re only 29,” she says cheerfully.
“For a bit longer.” I’m looking forward to turning 30. I knew that’s not what she was interested in.
“Any children?”
“Yes. One” I smile at her.
“Oh, only one?” She says, as her face falls, the question full of remorse and pity. She must have 5 or 6 judging by the tone in her voice. I’ll bet they’re mostly girls.
“Yes, he’ll be seven this year.” Seven. Wow. He’s got a sweetheart in his class, and he spends idle time wiggling his first loose tooth. But I don’t want to start over.
“Awww, you never got to have a girl, then.” Bingo. All girls - I knew it.
“No,” I tell her as I try to keep the annoyance from creeping into my voice. “If I did, and she was anything like me I would be in serious trouble.” I laugh; force a smile.
She laughs, but doesn’t ask any more questions. “The doctor will be right in.” Of course.
—-
The doctor isn’t nearly as chatty or inquisitive.
“You realize this is permanent?”
I stifle a groaning sigh. That’s kind of the point.
Instead I smile and just say “Yes.”
She hands me a phone number for the referral. I ask about the process, what to expect next. She describes the procedure in delicate, yet clinical terms. I clarify my question - How soon before the referral is processed? She tells me I can call today.
I try the phone in the parking garage before I leave but there is no cell service. Ten minutes later I have an appointment scheduled. I’m disappointed to find they are booked for more than two months.
Later that evening my best friend pleads with me. “What if…?” she offers.
I am calm and resolute as I explain, and I can hear her heart breaking for me. Her heart breaks because she doesn’t understand. It has been ten years. I don’t want that way of life anymore. Ten years ago I did. I’m choosing this, sterilization, whatever you want to call it. I’m not giving up more children, I’ve decided one is enough for me. There’s a difference.
