The perennial question designed to torture someone after a decision especially one which could've had a different outcome. As a slightly neurotic type, one which I ask on an alarmingly frequent basis.
This resounding mantra has been jarring on my brain since I was diagnosed with an out of control tumour; the size of an orange and worryingly, had been there for over 2 years. So, I'm going to recount a few incidents where I could've been diagnosed, should've sought medical help and then there wouldn't have been the operation and the reasons why I didn't.
Madrid - July 2006
I spent two months in Madrid working hard on my Cambridge DELTA, a qualification essential to my career in ELT and one which I couldn't afford to screw up. The course itself is quite gruelling in terms of volume of work but all in all worth it. The weekend before an important assessed lesson, I got the severe cramps. Blinding ones. I tried everything - hot water bottle, hot bath, painkillers. The lot. I even vomited. Begona who I rented the room from caught me curled up in the bath, crying my eyes out and moaning in pain. She cancelled her weekend with her family and tried to persuade me to go to the hospital. I refused. It would pass and I had an assignment to write and a lesson to prepare. Maybe at that point, the doctors would've found the tumour and perhaps could've treated it there and then. But on the downside, it would've meant 'Bye, bye DELTA' and the opportunity to gain a career boosting qualification.
Damascus - February 2007
Tuesday evening with my Advanced group. I'm just setting up the activity and wham! A juggernaut smack in the womb with a medicine ball. Luckily, the toilets were right next to the classroom so I fled quickly and retched with the pain. Two learners came after me. One randomly said, 'you should stop smoking'.' It's my womb, you silly cow!' I almost snapped back but I managed to retain professionalism.
Somehow, I got upstairs to the staffroom and lay on the floor. One of the girls kindly brought up a cup of tea only to be rebuked by one of the teachers. We got the only available first aider, one of the security staff, who wrapped me up in a prayer mat before hoisting me to the hospital. The issue was that I was in a majority Moslem and conservative society where the P word is not discussed between man and wife and certainly not between colleagues. I was surrounded by Syrian men and trying to tell them that my periods are killing me may not have got through. Thankfully, I was given something strong to relieve the pain and I could leave. I am highly dubious if they even knew it was my period. I later heard that the security guard told everyone 'Liz ate bad food.'
Oaxaca - July 2010
The worst time to come on has to be the first day of a month long backpacking trip through Mexico and then around Guatamala. It has been commented that my menstrual cycle often works in tandem with travel plans. I'm in Oaxaca and staying with a friend for a couple of days. I was wandering around in the pissing rain and then 'splat!!!'. An unexpected bout of severe pains. In an internet cafe of all places. I tried to buy pills only to be met by pharmacists mocking my rather broken Spanish. It got worse and worse so I phoned my friend and asked for her address so I could take a taxi back, dose on pills and be miserable for a while. Now, this friend is a little special. The practicalities of knowing an address escape her. I struggled to retrace my steps with blurred vision and then I found her house. I stumbled in and waited for it to pass. My friend returned and gave me some of her super powerful muscle relaxant period pain killers, waited for it to pass and then we went out to eat and have a couple of drinks a few hours later. Although, I love this friend a lot, practicalities escape her. If she forgot her address then I doubt very much she could assist with a nearby doctor. The pain passed too. And also, for a few hours of extreme pain, I got to complete my summer plan and it would be a pity to throw that away.
Of course, I have researched benign fibroid uterine tumours and have found that there are alternative treatments. Ultimately, most women still need a hysterectomy after a while. They have a nasty habit of recurring and the treatment can damage the uterus walls. So even if I got treatment early on which would have disrupted my life events, it looks like I would face a few years of time consuming and most probably expensive treatments in contexts which may not even have it available.
As the old adage goes, 'better out than in.'
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