The interior of the office was like a box, though much bigger. She sat on one of the two white plastic chairs opposite the doctor's seat. A singular piece of furniture, the long rectangular wooden table on four legs served as a demarcation.
She wore a yellow loose-fitting blouse. Its pleated seam enjoyed shifting positions, at any slight movement of her trunk, on the thick deep blue jeans, tight around her thigh but baggy around her crus. Her face, induced by dense layers of cosmetics was all shades of beauty, complimented with a gold-coloured wig that fitted nicely on her scalp. But people who are well don't come to see the doctor, do they?
"Good morning" the doctor greeted, his cheeks widening into a grin.
"You sure? Good afternoon Doctor" she replied snickering, her response came with an aura of confidence that complimented the fragrance oozing from her outfit.
The doctor was a bit fazed, unsure if the wafty breeze, bright clouds, and the trickle of patients that characterise mornings on Wednesdays had misled him once again. He checked his watch, the time was ten minutes past twelve.
"Apologies, my bad! What brings you to the hospital this morning?...oh no, this afternoon rather?" he asked, leaving no room for her to interject.
But she wasn't going to interject. Her face was buried in the big black leather bag that sat comfortably on her lap, her hands carefully sifting the pile of carefully arranged documents in her bag, pausing momentarily to examine which was which.
"I brought my scan result", she responded a few seconds later, producing a neatly folded A4 paper from the bag that she offered to the doctor.
"Why did you do a scan?" the doctor asked, his instinct to ferret kicking in. Several years of practice had taught him that for every patient, or rather most patients, there was always more than meets the eye. The doctor had begun to go through the result when she started;
"I missed my period last month. I waited a bit, thinking it was delayed but it still didn't come. So I did a Urine Pregnancy test, but it came out negative. Seeing the confusion on my face, the lab attendant told me to do a scan if I wasn't satisfied with the result".
She paused a bit before she continued, the bewilderment on her face becoming more apparent.
"Here is the result. I don't understand. Instead of pregnancy, it is now pelvic inflammation something? But scans don't make mistakes, do they?".
Her confusion was non-communicable though. The doctor was confident that with some more questions, the mystery would unravel itself.
"Apart from the missed period, what other symptoms do you have?" he asked.
"…I have lower abdominal pains. Also, itching in my…em…you know…sometimes too, discharge"
A thin wry formed across his lips. Alas, the pieces of the puzzle had fitted and it was his turn to ‘buga’. He was now solely in charge, and she couldn't, or better still dare not interrupt him.
"PID is an acronym for Pelvic Inflammatory Disease. The Pouch of Douglas is a cul-de-sac between the rectum and the uterus where fluid normally accumulates in mild quantities but becomes excessive when there is an infection. So with the symptoms you have, an impression of excessive fluid is captured when you do an ultrasound scan and it's a major pointer for the diagnosis of PID. Though you missed your period, a PID does not favour the occurrence of pregnancy, they are indeed cat-and-mouse. After treatment, you should be expecting your period next month, that's if you aren't already up the spout!"
Though she didn't say thank you, the sight of her confidence returning, evidenced by the flush on her face was enough affirmation to him, that he had assuaged her fears.
The entire episode, entertaining and enlightening as it was, had certain highlights for me— 'Pouch of Douglas', 'Cul-de-sac', 'fluid accumulation'. Retrospecting, similarly to how Douglas's Pouch excessively accumulates fluid in the body during infections and how mosquitoes breed in stagnant water, so also negativity (habits, vices, ideas, thoughts) is at home in an idle Homo sapien. Always remember that an idle hand is the devil's workshop or better still, will sooner or later become a Pouch of Douglas!
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