An immaculate infection: being prepared for an emergency is crucial--especially when "lesbian" is a foreign concept to your doctor.

It all started with what I thought was a case of food poisoning from a Jack in the Box cheeseburger--seriously, what was I thinking?

But after three days of abdominal pain so severe that I was renouncing every pagan thought I'd ever had and begging God for mercy, I decided to go to the emergency room. Six hours later I was rolled out of the operating room minus one ovary. I felt as though I was floating, and then realized that I was attached to a morphine drip.

Morphine. Images flashed through my head of William S. Burroughs in Mexico writing his first novel, Junk, and killing his lover in William Tell fashion. Perhaps in my own drug-induced stupor I'd finally begin my freshman novel in a dated Glendale, Calif., hospital. As I was being wheeled up to the emergency room the nurse's aide had matter-of-factly shared that the hospital was being razed in a couple of months, as it was not earthquake safe. Good to know, buddy, good to know.

The most disturbing part of this whole fiasco was the insistence by Dr, Chin that my ovary had been infected by having unprotected sex with a man. He grew increasingly agitated as I politely explained that I had never had intercourse with a man. Ever. This completely threw him. He scrunched his thick eyebrows and clicked his pen as he repeated that I should be more careful in the future, Which is when I motioned to my domestic partner, a woman, and said, "But there must have been another cause, doctor, as you see I don't sleep with men." Then, as hurriedly as he had entered the room, he shuffled off.

End of diagnosis.

The good news was that I would be on disability for six weeks, so I wouldn't have to report in my mind-numbing day Job as a secretary. The bad news is that, well, the health care industry is in serious need of some homosexual-sensitivity training. Thankfully, I have an amazing physician friend who answered all the questions Dr. Chin was apparently too busy or too overwhelmed by the queer quotient to answer. God bless Markl Knox.

This brings me to lesson number i: The importance of choosing your HMO hospital and primary care provider wisely. I thought I had. This Glendale hospital was the closest to my new home, which is, you know, important in an emergency. I'll admit, choosing a primary care provider is a bit more daunting. You log onto your insurance company's Web site--DSL suggested--select a few basics, like where you live and whether you want a male or female physician, and magically a long list of names appears on your screen, along with specific areas of expertise and whether or not they speak Tagalog. But come on, Health Net, why not throw in some resumes and photos? Maybe a list of the practitioners' various hobbies and interests? It'd be nice to get a clear picture of the man or woman whose hands will be maneuvering inside my uterus. Choose wisely.

What I failed to realize is that Glendale is probably about 50% Armenian, which is good inasmuch as it means there are many delectable restaurants in the area. It's not so good, however, when your hospital bed is 20 feet from an elderly woman in pain wailing an Armenian prayer of suffering. On morphine, I was certain site was being tortured to within an inch of her 70-year-old life.

And did I mention the food? I mean, it's not like I'm high maintenance (remember that Jack in the Box cheeseburger). But let me just say I'd bet my last HMO dollar that the hospital ships their food straight from some prison in the Antelope Valley. I was confounded that what I thought should be a place of healing was instead chock-full of bad food, bad smells, and bad lighting. Considering my bill was a whopping $54,000 for six days, certainly they could set some of that aside for an inexpensive but "tasteful Ikea makeover of floor lamps, area rugs, lavender candles, and soft towels. At the very least, they could splurge on some two-ply toilet paper.

And on that note, I will leave you with the following words of wisdom, should you find yourself about to be admitted to a hospital: Don't be afraid to ask questions. Plan ahead when ordering painkillers, as response times tend to lag. Have your domestic-partner, power-of-attorney, and health-directive papers in your pocket.

And never, under any circumstances, order the salmon. Godspeed.

Neilsen is a TV writer and lives in the Silver Lake district of Los Angeles.