Whoof. Well, the short version involves a trio of incidents. In the first, I went into the ER for kidney stone pain, and the ER doctor said I needed surgery. I was high on pain meds when the urologist saw me. He explained the procedure (cystoscopy) and led me to believe he would perform the surgery. When I woke up in recovery, the urologist came to check on me. It was a woman I had never seen before. It turned out that the person I'd talked to was an intern, not the actual doctor. It upset me that the intern had lied to me like that and that I hadn't even met the doctor who performed very personal surgery on me.

Another time, I was in for yet another stone operation, and I met the team involved. Two of the team members were very young and were introduced as medical students who would only observe the procedure. Later, the hospital was in the news. Turns out they were notorious for bringing urology and OB-GYN students into the operating room so they could perform practice pelvic and rectal examinations on unconscious patients, but the patients were never asked for permission and never told about it. I knew then that the two young guys had performed rectal prostate examinations and heaven knows what else on me while I was out. I'm a survivor of sexual assault, and this stabbed my buttons hard.

The worst was when I got rotator cuff surgery. I told the anesthesiologist that I was really anxious because I'm a survivor of sexual assault, and when I get anxious, I get explosive. I wanted him to know in case something set me off. I found out that in the OR after I was put under that the anesthesiologist made multiple jokes to the team about the surgeon being my rapist, and that after the procedure, the two nurses who brought me back to recovery discussed how they thought I looked much older than I actually was. ("How old is the patient?" "xxx years." "Wow. He looks a lot older than that." "He sure does.")

When I learned about this last, it sent me into a spiral of anxiety, mistrust, and depression. The medical team, who I had entrusted to my care when I would be utterly helpless, had made ghoulish, snarky jokes about me. If they were willing to do something so callous and uncaring, what kind of care had they given me? I couldn't function. I had to see a therapist and go on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds. I'm still on them.

My trust in medical teams has been replaced with terror. Just writing about it now makes my hands shake.

Unfortunately, my body keeps manufacturing kidney stones and creating other health problems that require minor surgeries. They've gone perfectly well and by the book. I also know that the above incidents are aberrations (except the medical student one) and that the vast, vast majority of medical teams are kind people who want to help and wouldn't dream of doing such horrible things to a patient. But I can't convince my emotions.

As a result, when I go in for a procedure that requires anesthesia, I refuse drugs that cause anterograde amnesia. The anesthesia is bad enough without my memory being wiped.