It was a calm weekday morning. The kind of shift every emergency room doctor hopes for. There were no patients waiting, and the day had started peacefully with coffee, a pastry, and quiet conversation among staff. The hospital, nicknamed “The Promised Land” by one of Dr Craig Troop’s colleagues, was known for having fewer traumatic emergencies than downtown hospitals. For a few hours, things looked promising.
That peace was shattered when an ambulance call came through the radio. The paramedics reported a 66-year-old woman who claimed that her gynecologist had placed an explosive device inside her. They were on their way and would arrive in ten minutes. The voice on the radio was calm and professional, giving no sign that this was anything out of the ordinary.
When the ambulance arrived, the woman looked anxious but stable. Her appearance told a different story. She looked disheveled and confused, her clothes mismatched, her hair unkempt. She clutched her blanket tightly and spoke with urgency. The paramedics, two seasoned professionals, believed every word she said. “Doc,” one of them told Dr Troop, “we’re staying to see what it looks like when you find it.”
The woman’s story was elaborate. She said she had visited her gynecologist that morning, and during an argument, he had declared that he was tired of women complaining. He then allegedly inserted a bomb inside her as revenge and told her he would detonate it remotely that evening at six o’clock. She was terrified. The level of detail she provided made it difficult not to believe her, even though the story was clearly impossible.
Before Dr Troop could begin the examination, a nurse interrupted. The woman’s three daughters had arrived and wanted to speak to him. He was relieved to step out, if only to gather his composure. The daughters were professional-looking, calm, and well-spoken, though visibly angry. They were furious at their mother’s gynecologist and wanted him arrested. None of them questioned the story.
Back in the examination room, the tension remained thick. The doctor began his examination carefully, looking for any foreign objects. Nothing was found. No wires, no swelling, no evidence of anything unusual. He called the on-duty psychiatrist, Dr Kay, and explained the bizarre situation over the phone. After listening patiently, Dr Kay paused and asked, “Why would the gynecologist have done such a thing?”
For a brief moment, Dr Troop thought even his colleague believed the story. Then came the reply: “Gotcha.” They both laughed, breaking the tension that had built throughout the morning.
Later, the daughters learned that their mother had not seen her gynecologist in over a year. They also revealed that she had a long history of mental health problems. The mystery was solved, but what lingered was the absurdity of how far fear and imagination can go when the mind is unwell.
This story, funny on the surface, also highlights something deeper about medicine. Every person who walks into an emergency room brings not just a physical problem but a story, a background, and a need for understanding. Sometimes that need is medical. Other times it is emotional or psychological. In this case, it was a cry for help from a lonely and frightened woman.
Dr Troop tells the story with his usual blend of warmth and restraint. He does not mock the patient or the situation. Instead, he lets readers see the humour that exists alongside compassion. His storytelling reminds us that even the strangest situations can carry an important lesson about empathy and patience.
There is a Bomb in My Vagina is not only a wild story but also a reflection of the unpredictable, human side of medicine. It shows that sometimes, what sounds like a crisis is really a moment to listen, to stay calm, and to find the human being behind the chaos. Grab your copy from Amazon to read the full story: https://www.amazon.com/dp/196964446X/
