I have never enjoyed going to the gynecologist. I doubt it’s anyone’s favorite activity. But I did not know how much I appreciated my experience in America until I went to a Japanese gynecologist.
Since arriving in Japan, I had been having issues with yeast infections, or candida as it is known to the medical community (and the term I prefer). A propensity for candida does not mean a woman is gross or broken. It is a normal part of women’s health, which is, of course, human health. As a society we need to remove the taboo and embarrassment around women’s biology and medical needs.[1] All people, women in particular, deserve more information and acceptance around matters that impact their health and wellness. Ok, I will get off my soapbox now.
As a person with skin allergies, I take great pains to avoid contracting candida. I use fragrance free and gentle soaps, detergents, and lotions. Since I was now in a foreign country, and some of these items were stolen from our ocean shipment, my body was getting used to all the new products. Additionally, candida can be caused by stress; which, of course, I have experienced in bounds since coming to Japan where I don’t know the language and can’t fit into the pants.[2]
In the US, if I need medicine for candida, I simply go to a pharmacy, grocery store, convenience store, or box store and buy some. That is not the case in Japan. I searched pharmacy sections of grocery stores and box stores, but I had no luck. I tried to order it on Amazon, but Amazon cancelled the order and responded that I needed a doctor’s permission. I finally found some at a large pharmacy store near my house. Actually, what I found was an empty box. I had to hand the box to the pharmacist, then answer a bunch of questions.
As luck would have it, the pharmacist was an old Japanese man who did not speak any English. I showed him how to talk into my phone to ask me questions that my phone would translate to English for me. Then, I would talk into my phone in English and my phone would translate my words into Japanese for him. This went back and forth on and on. The old pharmacist and I were both embarrassed, frustrated, and exhausted. He eventually gave up and sold me the medicine. I am fairly certain he would have sold me a handgun, fireworks, and pornography if those items had been available and if it would have made me go away. But all I wanted was the missing contents of the empty box.
Another time I went to the pharmacy to buy more of the same medicine, the pharmacist was an old Japanese woman. We went through the same song and dance with the phone. Another woman who spoke a little English came over to help. The pharmacist was not going to sell me the medicine because I had not seen a doctor, but I eventually convinced her. Afterall, I had bought the medicine at that pharmacy once before. Obviously, I had already been thoroughly vetted.[3] Or something like that anyway…
Clearly, I was not going to be able to strongarm elderly pharmacists into selling me medicine for the next two years, so I decided it was time to visit an actual gynecologist. The Japanese teacher that Honda provides, in addition to trying to teach me Japanese, also helps me do things like schedule doctor’s appointments. Her office provides her with a list of services and professionals in the area who can accommodate English speakers. She had the names of two gynecologists in Utsunomiya who speak English, both male. This is not a problem for me as my doctor at home is male. He is an advocate for women’s reproductive rights and generous with the epidural during childbirth. I adore him. My Japanese teacher scheduled me an appointment with one of the English-speaking Japanese gynecologists. His office also required that she attend with me to help interpret for the nursing staff.
My teacher and I showed up the day of the appointment to a gorgeous modern building that looked more like a spa than a doctor’s office. The pre-checkup procedures went smoothly. I noticed a woman with a fuzzy pink blanket in the waiting room. I found this curious. My Japanese teacher and I got very close and personal while she interpreted for me and the nurse as I went over my medical history and the reason for my visit. Luckily, my Japanese teacher is an amazing woman, so this part caused me only a little discomfort.
Next, I met with the doctor briefly. My husband Aaron, in his far more advanced Japanese lessons, has learned some of the phrases you are supposed to use when describing symptoms to a doctor. They contain no terms that could be deemed a diagnosis as the diagnosis is for the doctor to determine. Conversely, I straight up told the doctor I had candida. Whoops.
Then it was time for my examination. I walked into a little room that was completely open to the back hall where the doctor, nurses, and other staff moved around. Basically, anyone who had access to the hall, a number to which I was not privy, could have full access to my appointment. I was instructed to remove my clothing from the waist down and sit in the chair. The chair to which they referred reminded me of that bottomless chair from Casino Royale where they tortured James Bond by whipping his underside. The chair in this exam room also did not have a bottom, just places for my legs. I “sat” down on the chair with my bottom half hanging out for anyone in the hall to see. I felt like a terrified Winnie the Pooh. In that moment, I now understood the fuzzy pink blanket in the waiting room. Copying that woman’s genius, I decided to use my discarded pants as a makeshift modesty blanket.
The nurse and doctor rotated the chair to face the open hallway. Yay… The chair then lowered my head and raised and separated my legs. To make matters worse, the doctor pulled a curtain over my middle section. From his viewpoint, I was just bare legs and a vulva hanging out in the air.
The doctor started the examination. Unlike my doctor in the US, he did not warn me before he touched me. Well, hello Sailor! Worse and to my utter humiliation, he started to giggle. Yes, giggle. I have since been told that Japanese people giggle and laugh as a way to communicate kindness and deference. However, in the moment, with no pants and my legs in the air, his giggles were not received as compassion.
As previously mentioned, I have had a baby. This wasn’t my first rodeo so to speak. So, I was very surprised when the doctor decided to do a transvaginal ultrasound. While it felt totally unnecessary, it was nice to have a guided tour of my uterus. I guess… The doctor commented that I have “pretty eggs.” I’m as vain as the next person, but the aesthetics of my ovaries and eggs is not of great concern to me and it is incredibly awkward to hear. Do you say thank you?
Eventually this hell came to an end. The doctor provided me the exact same medicine that should have been in the empty box at the pharmacy. Nothing more. He had no other insights or suggestions. Three weeks later, the results of my examination came back exactly as I expected. It’s almost like I know my body and I am capable of treating this issue on my own when given the opportunity…
[1] Shout out to Jessica Biel for writing “A Kids Book about Periods.”
[2] For more information see my Time for My Big Boy Pants Substack.
[3] Incidentally, in all the chaos and confusion, I lost my Japanese Driver’s License at the pharmacy. Later that week I had to go the police station to get another one issued. Fortunately, a Honda interpreter came with Franny and me for that particular adventure.
I’m shocked their healthcare services are so lacking, to put it mildly. How can that be acceptable medical care? There have to be other OB/GYNs that speak English.