Memoirs of an Outstanding* Teen

Chapter 29: No Help For You

I hate talking about periods with anyone, even doctors. I know, a normal occurrence for half of the world's population, but I'm painfully shy when it comes to this. It takes just a couple of references for me to start avoiding eye-contact with whoever I'm talking to. So, as soon as I mentioned my period to the doctor, I started wishing I hadn't gone to her at all. "But maybe she can connect the dots, and help me out..."

No, she didn't connect dot amenorrhea to dot ED. She didn't even miss a beat in her analysis. She didn't stop to think, she didn't stop to ask any further questions. She just stood up and started walking to her cabinet.

"Okay, I'm just going to do a blood test then refer you to a specialist. An OB/GYN. He'll be able to tell you more about this. He's very busy so you might have to wait a few weeks. The secretary in the front will do the booking." And she was already back next to me signaling for me to extend my arm out to her.

My heart sank. "Not a single question about my eating habits? No escape plan? But maybe the blood test will show something..."

"No, everything is fine here." That's what she said when I went back to her three days later for the test results. "Your appointment at the OB/GYN is in two weeks. He'll do the rest, okay?" I nodded.

"He a specialist. He will see it immediately for sure. He must..."

Now, I wasn't ready for the antics that took place in the OB/GYN's office. He ended up sending me for an ultrasound before prescribing anything, but what happened before and after that meeting was much more than my bravery could take. It turns out that at 15, I knew too little about medical aid schemes to be able to pull off a visit to a brand-new doctor all on my own. (Did I mention that I had told nobody about my missing periods except our GP? Refer to the beginning of the chapter – painfully shy.)

When it was finally my turn with the secretary, all I said to her was, "My name is Nelu Mbingu. I have an appointment with the doctor." She asked me if I was a new patient, I said yes. Then she asked me if I was on a medical aid. I said yes. Then she asked me if I had the medical aid card.

I had no such thing. All I had was the little referral letter from my own doctor, and my emergency travel document. Not even a passport, or an ID, or a birth certificate, but an emergency travel document. That was going to be my only proof of identification. I told her I didn't have the card. She started with, "You can't..." She sighed. Then she asked, "Are you the main member?" I told her I was not. She sighed again. She was beginning to resemble Ms. Annoyed Face. "Okay, even if you had the card, I wouldn't be able to do anything because the main member must sign off on a new patient. Who's the main member?" I told her it was my father. "Can you call him in to sign?"

"Yeah, I can try. But..." I couldn't tell her that I didn't want anyone to know about this. "How much will it be if I just pay cash?"

"N$ 1000 but how old are you?"

"I'm 15 but I'll be 16 in December."

"You're a minor. Even if you had the money, we can't take you in unless your dad signs on your file." I must have had a very pathetic look on my face, because she looked up from her computer, stared at me for a second or two, then said, "If you have his number, you can call him on the landline here." And she pointed to the telephone on her desk.

"It's okay, I have my phone. I'll try to call him." I walked back to my chair, pulled out my phone and dialed my dad's number. Would he be able to hear my pounding heart through the phone?

"Dad. I'm at a doctor's office. You have to come and sign."

"What? You're sick. Why didn't you tell me? But they should have all our details there anyway. Why do they need me to sign?"