8 November 2021

A hospital in Seoul

A week ago, my manager said that I would be on leave the week of my birthday and that this week would be spent focusing on my health. The admission card read, "BP 121/83, Pulse 88, and GM 5,4" and my nurse reassured me that my pressure and sugar levels were fine. The optometrist saw no need to change my spectacles and the audiologist said that my hearing was fine.

Inhaling and exhaling, with my jumper off, provided the GP with the diagnosis that my breathing was fine. When I queried if my weight and height weren't to be recorded for BMI, he said that body shapes were a good enough indicator: a beer or pot belly was dangerous but "pears" (narrow chest and wide hips) were fine.

"In any event, Miss Park, you are more like a green bean." He asked if I experienced any pains or dull aches anywhere in my body and I replied in the negative. I hadn't experienced anything irregular, as compared to my friends, and I told the doctor. "You can proceed to the next specialist, then," he handed me notes to hand over to the next specialist.

There was no need to visit the skincare specialist as the make-up staff were hired on the condition that they graduated with a degree in dermatology. My diet was somewhat strict and I followed it obediently so I ticked that off the list Rina eonnie had sent via text. Fans thought my lisp was adorable so I decided not to go for speech therapy. I rarely drank and walked past Urology.

Gynaecology was the last on the list, and as with the other wards, I handed in my form to be scanned. I was given a cup to pee in and directed to the bathroom stall. A minute was all I needed to gather my nerves and I sealed the container before opening the door. The little plastic cup went to the lab while I walked to an office.

The specialist charged with my care had a kind face and that set me at ease. Doctor Pyung asked me various questions, prodding me even though I admitted that I was a virgin. I told her that my periods started at age 12, and she questioned if they were regular. "To be honest, I do get them once a month but sometimes after the 28th day."

Her expression was calculating when she asked if they were painful. "At first, walking great distances was unbearable but my mum would give me StilPain, that green tablet. When I started exercising during my period, it seemed to decrease the pain. I also avoid meat during that week so I don't have to endure digestion problems and I stay hydrated."

The gynaecologist didn't say anything but scribbled in my file furiously. "Emotionally, how do you feel during your period?" I explained that I was more anxious than usual and postponed making decisions until it was over. Not wanting to omit any information, I told her the flow was heavy during the first two days but gradually stopped afterward.

She held open the door for me and led me to where the inspection would be conducted. Doctor Pyung said she'd give me a minute to remove my shoes, pants, and underwear. I was to sit on the paper covering the bench and a blanket was provided to protect my modesty. Nodding, I did as she said, leaving my clothes on the chair next to me.

I placed my bare feet on the short metal bar at the end of the bench I sat on. The gynaecologist came in as I sat, vulnerable in my partial nudity. She slathered an instrument in gel, explaining that I was to relax as the wand went deep into me. There was a camera at the end and the scan would be shown on the large display screen in front of me.

I felt as though the device was tearing me apart from the inside and wondered if sex was this painful. She told me to stop clenching my vaginal walls and I wanted to shout that it was impossible. I tried not to squirm as the specialist told me that it was deep enough and she moved the wand to the left and right sides.

Throughout this agonising process, she took out photographs and finally removed the instrument of torture. "I know this was the most invasive process of your young life but it helped gather important information," Doctor Pyung looked me in the eye as she sanitised the devices. "I'll explain what the scans picked up."

Two blobs showed up on both sides of the first image: "What you see are cysts, of approximately 3 centimetres each. We will have to remove them as their presence is malignant. There is, however, a hurdle. You have endometriosis and we cannot remove the cysts for fear of damaging the uterus until the blood lining significantly becomes thinner."

She told me to dress up as we had much to discuss in her office. There were paper towels to clean myself up and eomma had advised me to carry a sanitary towel. Its cottony softness somewhat relieved the pain and staunched the rivulet of blood that had resulted from the bursting of my hymen.

As I gingerly made my way back, everything I had learned in science class relating to the female reproductive system flooded my brain. None of it seemed relevant in this situation; suffice to say that the diagram told me the precise function of the endometrium. We hadn't been taught the things that could go wrong except for STIs. Such a waste.

The specialist told me that there were two options to cure the swelling: medication and surgery. She gave me a booklet to read while she filled out the prescription. Once I read about the illness and the tablet, Visanne, I expressed relief that I could be healed. The gynaecologist said that I would have to take the HPV Vaccine.

"I will administer the first round now," she opened the fridge and took out the vial. "The next round will be on the 8th of January and the last one on the 8th of April. Your prescription of Visanne is for six months, starting today, and it will end on the day of your last vaccine. Hopefully, the synergy between the two will result in a normally-sized endometrium."

"What if it doesn't?" I whispered.

"I will have to operate," she filled a needle with the vaccine and checked that there were no air bubbles. "Inhale," the doctor rolled up the sleeve of my jumper. Compared to the anguish of earlier, the injection was akin to being bitten by a toothless, month-old puppy. "Good girl," she remarked as she sanitised the skin.

"Your condition has led to hormones being produced en masse. This puts stress on the body, releasing more hormones, a vicious cycle indeed. I won't tell you about the surgery at this juncture as I don't want to stress you out further," she bid me goodbye and I walked to the pharmacy to collect my medication.

I silently thanked the deck for showing me that I should get medical aid after signing my contract with the agency. The broker had urged me to get full coverage, and although I paid a high premium monthly, my bill was much lower without it. I had to take this tablet daily at the same time, the pharmacist advised me.

Should I forget one dose, the information guide inside the packet would inform me of what to do. He gave me a card with the pharmacy's details and I sat down on a chair, taking photos of each piece of paper I had been handed today, ensuring that I had a digital backup and that my manager knew of my issues.