Een srs verslag uit de jaren '60

[petra_]

Lees en huiver. *Not for the faint hearted*

I arrived at the Clinique du Parc, on the Rue Lapébie, late at night. I had
taken a cab from the airport and my driver, Mustapha, had stopped the car
twice in order to seduce me. I told him, that I had syphillis and was on my
way to the clinic for treatment. But he kept insisting and in order to get
him off my back and to cheat him out of the cab fare (I was broke once
again), I decided to give the poor bastard a break and gave him a hand job.
What kind of place was this anyway? The guy was mariried, had six children
and was goodlooking. I was dressed as a boy, hiding my medium length
bleached blond hair underneath a baseball cap and looked positively
horrendous, still sporting the remains of a cheap lipstick.
After he dropped me off, he gave me his address and promised to visit me at
the clinic.

I rang the bell at the gate of the clinic and after a while, which seemed an
eternity to me, the lights came on and I was received by a mean looking, awe
inspiring, diesel-dyke named Claude, clad in pajamas. Before I could even
utter my name, she asked me if I had the money.I gave her Peggy's name and
explained to her that Dr. Burrouh had agreed to treat me for free. The next
moment she handed me a razor and told me to shave off my pubic hair, with
the mention, that she would come by and check me out later. The nurse that
was on duty that night took me up to the blue room.

The rooms didn't have numbers and were all done in different shades of
pastels. Quite lovely as a matter of fact.
Never having handled a razor in my life and of course still a little
intoxicated, but sobering up fast, I shaved the best I could, cutting
myself several times, while waiting for Claude to come up and see me.

The bitch finally showed up, looked at the mess I had made, lifted up my
penis and said, that I was to be operated on, first thing in the morning. No
examination by the good doctor, no blood tests, nothing. I didn't even have
to fill out any paperwork. The nurse gave me a sedative, and off I went into
dreamland.

At about six that morning, I was given an injection, by still another nurse
and "that's all folks". When I came to, a nurse, who I later got to know as
Fatima, said to me "bonjour mademoiselle" and not yet realizing it, because
I was still groggy from the anaesthesia, I had become a woman. I have no
idea, how long the operation took and didn't bother to ask.

I didn't meet the good doctor until five days after the operation! When I
reflect upon this, I guess, that he didn't expect me to live. There were
rumours, told to me years later by my good friend Monique (aka Coccinelle)
that several patients, who had come after me, had died and were buried on
the grounds of the clinic.

The rules at the clinic, were very simple and strict. No visitors and no
phone calls.
After all, the doctor had performed an illegal operation and everything was
hush, hush. Fatima took good care of me. I was given enemas and washed. I
remember, that urinating was quite painful.

On the fifth day, I developed a hematoma and one of the lips swelled up. My
temperature was way up and I also got an infection. I looked and felt a
mess.

After 11 days, the stitches were removed and out shoots a metal object in
the form of a cylinder out of the ugliest cunt I had ever seen. Then the
doctor proceeded to plunge two fingers into the hole and inserted a speculum
to make the gaping wound even wider. In all my life I had never experienced
and would never experience again so much pain. All this was done without the
benefit of any kind of anaesthetic, I wasn't even given a sedative.

A few hours later, Claude came to see me and told me, that she would do the
same procedure two days hence, but with a nasty laugh, she told me, that
she wouldn't be as kind and gentle as the doctor had been. I was terrified.

A while later I heard through the grapevine that Claude had been fired
several times, because of cruelty towards certain patients; but Burrouh
always took her back. That place was a true hell-hole.

That night, I bribed Fatima(I gave her a beautiful gold bracelet), and sent
her with a message to Mustapha, to be at the gate of the clinic at precisely
6 o'clock, the next morning. I should be able to make my getaway when the
shift changed.

I had no trouble getting out of the clinic and Mustapha was waiting for me.
He told me that he had come to the clinic several times and at first had
been told that he couldn't see me and the last time that he tried, he was
told that I had already checked out.

Mustapha drove me to the airport; there was only one flight to Paris that
week and it was fully booked. I waited for almost four hours at that damn
airport and was scared stiff that I wasn't able to get on. I had been put
on stand by and at the last minute someone canceled and I was given a seat.
Because of the fever and the infection, I looked like a ghost and smelled
even worse.... I had a big bottle of Mitsoukou ( Guerlain) with me and kept
dousing myself with the stuff in order to mask the foul smell. Two
passengers seated near me, threw up and even now, everytime I smell someone
that is wearing Mitsoukou, I get sick to my stomach.

We finally arrived at Orly and right after disembarktion I passed out cold.
I refused to be taken to yet another hospital and took a taxi, straight
back to my hotel in the Rue de Richer.

The next day, I went to see a gynecologist who was horrified when I told
him the story; he treated my infection the best he could and as sick as I
was, I managed somehow to get up that evening and went back to work , just
because I needed the money.

I couldn't sit down, but I could still sing.