Maintaining a view of humanity is fundamental. And I don't mean the humanity of a society, but the humanity of humanity.

OK. I want to focus on health. In our current health care system. Let us remember that to the extent that they are public services and as taxpayers, the fulfilment of our obligations must be for all and for all. Once, my son asked me: The source of the question is very interesting: our day to day is largely made up of services that are not offered in exchange for kisses in improvisation. I asked him: “Yes, son, doctors also need money to live and they are paid through the banks with everyone’s money.” The son was after a butterfly. Better.

A new reality in early 2021: polyp or myoma and metroragia. Long monthly too long: 20 days. Pain, too. It's normal. One in four women says yes. So, the things of the species. Emergency room. That in case of emergency intervention was necessary and carried out immediately. They told me they were going to be operated on at the outpatient clinic, keeping Ockham's knife. Eight pills daily to cut blood, four to six to remove pain and two to ensure rest. Total: Pill 14-16. And all this until the day of the operation. Finally, the hope that the operation would be carried out immediately gave a little light on what had just become the pharmacists' pill.

The week went by and there was the waiting room. I would have liked to go into this room and go out without the pipo myoma strip and go back to my work without pain, without blood. I was happy. The door opened and a friendly doctor took the step and there I became a compressed pill ready to be me again. But no, everything turned.

The following:

Since it couldn't be otherwise, when they were preparing everything was dying among them from the different situations that COVID-19 creates, the environment was not good. They put me in the place I should and there I was, in a delivery bed, updated, created by the whim of Louis XIV, where I also had my legs tied with ankle belts. I thought about Marqués Sade. Gora La France. Raise your fist in 1789. And below is the differentiating dynamics that emerged outside of Bakunin's ideology.

I came back, and there was my ankle tightly attached, with my legs completely open, ready for the operation. I have to present my hysteroscope, he will be the protagonist of what I portrayed below. The orchestra directors presented me with a similar, silvery, and a metal rig with the following explanation: “We put this in your womb and once you have put it in, we take the polyp out of you.” OK. Easy. Isn't it? Well, as soon as I entered the apparatus, they took me to hell, which was unbearable suffering. Dear reader, you will have doubts about the sensitivity and tolerance of the pain he writes. I've had three children. I have suffered a traffic accident and have gone through the Pain Unit, where I have been forced to take “volantines”. In one of the births, after three days of contractions, in the hospital, when falling to the ground with the pain of pain, I took my first epidural and was glad that I suffered the pain, because when it has a goal (it is also the pain that protects us so that the pain in the ankle does not break the bone) it helps us to some extent. Going back to the traffic accident, in the emergency room they tried for a long time to introduce an arm that was out of place, until I started screaming, and only then, with an excitation shout, they predicted that my troquiter was broken and that it was not possible to place the arm properly instead of the broken bone without anesthesia, so they immediately removed the plaque that confirmed it and took me to the operating room to put the arm in place.

With all of this I mean that even if pain doesn't like it, it's more bearable when the benefits of suffering pain are internalized. But in the end, the union had not brought me to hell. When I explained it to him, the local gynecologist told me I had to count up to 30 and it would be like a delivery. So I did. I counted 40, with tears in my eyes. And when it was over, he said without any explanation. “We’ve finished.”

How? Have you treated me, did I, and you? The word of the Basques? Is it ideal? “We’ve finished” that “dress and come,” and as the gynecologist crossed the door, the nurses loosened my laces. That is how it was. Once dressed, he told me that he was in front of the gynecologist and that it was an operation that had to be done with anesthesia. And it's over. The nurse who worked in the operating room explained that myomas cannot be removed by this procedure. Now he puts the myoma on my operations sheet.

Fourteen days have passed since then. I'm still on the waiting list. They say things are stretched out for COVID-19. The operation was urgent within and within the despotism of the waiting list. In the meantime, who I am, I am still in great pain, I have already become a pill that you want to release once and for all. I beg you: remove the pain and examine the myoma. I pay my taxes. There is a lack of bilaterality.

And since the different areas of life are composed of many realities, several newspapers reported that yesterday a private hospital nearby has launched a new technique to eliminate, as successfully as possible, uterine fibroids.

Tyranny of money. I do know. Of the 7.7 billion inhabitants, we are in a cursed “privileged” reality. In many ways, of course. I understand that. But in our case, cure in this example in exchange for money. Goal. Let's all go to the dog's ass. And the next time more.