So you want to be a gynaecologist?

Michael Abrahams, Gleaner Online Columnist

I am a gynaecologist. When some men are introduced to me and are informed of my occupation, they remark, tongue in cheek, that I work where other men play. But many tell me that they would just love to have my job, all this with mischievous grins on their faces and twinkles in their eyes. They mistakenly believe that my job is a never-ending centrefold parade, providing hours of live entertainment.

I am also asked strange questions such as, "Is true seh gynaecologists haffi wear jockstrap?" and "Oonu have any nature when oonu go a oonu yard? (In case you are wondering, the answers to those questions are ‘no’ and ‘yes’, respectively.)

We are also subjected to ridicule, and the name of our beloved speciality is constantly being corrupted for reasons that I don't fully comprehend. For example, ophthalmologists are referred to as ‘eye doctors’, dermatologists are called ‘skin doctors’ and orthopaedic surgeons are known as ‘bone specialists’. What are gynaecologists called? Grinocologists, pokie doctors, crotch mechanics and other names that cannot be mentioned in this distinguished forum. (Email me and I will tell you.)

But my job is about a lot more than just below the waist. It is about looking after the woman as a whole. It encompasses dealing with issues ranging from child abuse, incest, rape, sexual harassment, gender discrimination and single motherhood to physical maladies such as uterine fibroids and endometriosis, to situations like infertility and pregnancy loss and natural transitions like menopause.

Quite a lot to deal with, which probably accounts for the preponderance of grey hair on my premenopausal head. Don't get me wrong - I absolutely love my job, and it is rewarding, but it is associated with a great deal of stress. As a matter of fact, when it comes to litigation risk, obstetrics (managing pregnancy and its complications) sits at the top of the list, along with plastic surgery. Each obstetric patient is actually two patients (at least), and when something goes awry, fingers are often pointed at us, even when the complicated or tragic outcome is not necessarily our fault.

I recall an eye-opening incident early in my career that provided me with much food for thought. I was in the waiting area at an insurance company when I overheard two women talking. No, I was not ‘faasing’, as they were, in fact, speaking rather loudly. Anyway, one of the ladies asked the other if she heard that a mutual acquaintance's newborn baby had died. The other woman immediately replied, "What? Dem fi sue di doctor!" Just like that. No questions asked, no investigations, just blame the doctor.

And pregnant women are like walking time bombs. Pregnancy is supposed to last for nine months, but the uterus may decide to act up at any time and evict its occupant or scare the hell out of its landlady, resulting in frantic calls that not uncommonly interrupt your activities.

So you may be called out in the middle of the night to deliver a baby while you are actively trying to make your own. Ironic, isn't it? Deliveries have caused me to miss weddings, funerals, christenings, birthday parties, sporting events and trips to the country, and I have had to brave hurricanes and negotiate fallen trees and debris in order to facilitate safe deliveries.

Then, at the time of childbirth, there is the exposure to a plethora of body fluids (and gases and solids). It is not uncommon for cocktails of blood, amniotic fluid, urine, vomit and stool to come at you at varying velocities, occasionally making contact.

Then there is the part of the job that involves being the bearer of bad news. Informing a woman that she has cancer in her reproductive tract is no fun, and few situations are more heartbreaking than looking in a pregnant woman's face while performing an ultrasound examination and informing her that her unborn child is dead.  Or informing a childless woman after surgery that you were unable to save her uterus and that she will never be able to bear children.

So, gentlemen, do you still wanna be a gynaecologist?

Michael Abrahams is an obstetrician and gynaecologist, comedian and poet. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and michabe_1999@hotmail.com or tweet @mikeyabrahams.