FunctionalRox

I never had issues with routine gynecologic exams. Sitting on a table with my legs spread never felt uncomfortable to me. I even found humor in it. When I began my fertility journey and started seeing a specialist, I tolerated frequent saline ultrasounds without any trouble. Over time, it became exhausting to constantly be examined and to feel more like a body than a person, but I understood it was part of the process. That was simply the reality of infertility care.

Eventually, I was scheduled for an HSG exam at the hospital to confirm whether my fallopian tubes were clear. I had heard mixed experiences. Some women described extreme pain while others said it was uncomfortable but manageable. Despite the uncertainty, I was willing to try. That has always been my approach.

From the moment I was on the table, something felt wrong. The provider performing the exam was cold and unwelcoming. There was no explanation and no reassurance. The procedure began abruptly. The moment she attempted to open my cervix, I screamed louder than I ever have in my life. Tears immediately poured down my face. I told her to stop.

I went into full panic. In my mind, I kept thinking this cannot be a test. A medical test should not feel like this. Something is wrong. In that moment, my trust completely broke between what I believed medical care should be and what was happening to my body. I chose not to continue the exam.

I left the hospital crying, overwhelmed with shame and disappointment. I convinced myself that I had failed and that I was too weak or too sensitive to get through it. For weeks afterward, I would break down crying at random moments when the memory resurfaced. I did not schedule another doctor’s appointment for six months because I was not sure I was mentally capable of continuing. My nervous system no longer felt safe in medical settings.

When the new year arrived, my doctors needed to repeat several tests, including another saline ultrasound. I told myself I would be fine since I had done this exam many times before without issue. But the moment I was positioned on the table and the procedure began, I started hysterically crying. The fear from my HSG experience took over completely.

That single exam traumatized me so deeply that I ultimately had to be put under anesthesia for a procedure many women are expected to endure while awake. My nervous system was so dysregulated that there was no possibility of reliving anything even remotely similar. The pain I experienced during the HSG was the worst pain of my life. It was deep, sharp, and piercing, like a knife. I truly believe my body went into shock.

I cannot understand how an experience like this is allowed in modern medicine. It feels barbaric to expect women to undergo such invasive procedures without adequate pain management, numbing, or medication. If the provider performing my exam lacked the experience or skill to do it safely, then there should be far stricter standards for who is permitted to perform it.

This experience did not just interrupt my fertility journey. It traumatized me. It shattered my sense of safety in my body and in medical care. It has affected my ability to tolerate procedures I once felt completely comfortable with. And it is something I will carry with me long after infertility itself.

Women deserve informed consent, compassionate care, and real pain management during fertility testing. We deserve to be warned honestly about potential pain. We deserve options for numbing, medication, or sedation without being dismissed or judged. We deserve providers who are trained not only in technique but in trauma informed care.

If you are a provider, listen to your patients and believe them. If you are a healthcare system, update your protocols. If you are a woman preparing for an HSG, ask questions, advocate for yourself, and know that stopping a procedure does not mean you failed. And if you have lived through an experience like this, share your story. Silence protects a system that needs to change.
Your pain is not the price of answers.