August 3 was my first womb scratch test. I was kinda nervous, and soon learned that the best method to get rid of anxiety is apparently an infuriatingly long wait at the patient's waiting area, where your number gets called 1 hour AFTER your allotted appointment time.

Dr Jerry Chan was pleasant and professional as usual, and explained that it was a simple scratching of the womb. Nothing to worry about.

The procedure itself was much more painful that anticipated though. And because, as established before, my womb's position falls backwards; he had a hard time reaching it via the instruments. To deal with the pain and intense cramps that accompanied the procedure, I had to sing little happy songs in my head while I dug my nails into my palm and fixated my full attention on the hairline crack running down the sterile white wall right beside the bed.

He finally got the prized samples, which looked like a few pieces of bloodied flesh in a tube of clear liquid. I forgot to snap a picture in the midst of my pain. The cramps didn't last long though, and subsided after 15 minutes. His parting advise was to down a couple of Paracetamol an hour before the next cycle...


... Which I totally forgot about come September 3, the 2nd womb scratch test.

The wait was even longer this time, and because Dr. Chan was away, his colleague Dr. Shilla Maria took over, which proved to be an absolute disaster.

My nerves were frayed by the time I finally got called in about 1.5 hours after my appointment time. Dr Shilla looked like she didn't want to be there; like she was totally pissed that extra unscheduled work was thrown at her to cover for a colleague or something like that.

I was ushered to the bed where she proceeded to curtly jab my vag with the probe. I winced of cause; it hurt! And I proceeded to get an earful from her. "No moving!" "No clenching of the bum!" "I'm not going to continue if you don't cooperate!" No little happy songs found their way into my head this time. One of the jabs hurt so much I started to tear and the damned bitch doctor actually put down her instruments and announced "I'm not going to continue if you cry."

The 2 nurses were all over the place at that. They tried to calm me down. Calm HER down. She berated me a little more before I protested through sobs that I can't help how my body is reacting, I was trying my best, and I just wanted to get this over and done with. Somehow she got all indignant at that.

After she finally finished with me, she stomped out of the area while I changed, and started to complain to hubby about me crying, and that she "didn't appreciate being shouted at". HUH?? I DID NOTHING OF THE SORT! What in heaven's name is wrong with this woman! She whined about how she had been doing this for years and "have witnesses that I did everything professionally". Hubby humbly suggested that maybe I was crying because it hurt and not because it was personal against her? He said later that this statement somehow stunned her a little.

Yes bitch, not everything is about you.

So she had calmed down when I came out of the procedure area and I asked her politely what to do after my next cycle of period comes. Her answer was gold: "I don't know. I'm not your doctor." Professional my ass.

The 2 nurses immediately jumped in to the rescue, explaining what to do and what to expect. The nurses at KKH are really awesome.

There. I never thought I'd write about the bitch doctor who was most probably having a bad day that day (PMS? Ditched by boyfriend? Someone ate her sandwich?), but I have time to blog with my 20 days hospitalisation leave now.

So... let's all hope that is the absolutely last I'll ever see of Dr. Shilla Maria.