TMI or "Why My Uterus Hates Me"

"I'm not feeling very well - I need a doctor immediately. Ring the nearest golf course."
--Groucho Marx

I'm just going to warn you up front: if you don't have ovaries, you probably don't want to read this.
Actually, even if you have ovaries, you might not want to read this.
Because I'm going to be be honest here, folks.
REALLY HONEST.
Also, I'm going to whine. I hate whining, but I love ranting. So maybe this is more of that. Strap yourselves in.
Or flee in terror.
Either one works.

Because, sometimes, being female just stinks. Not only are there all of our insecurity issues, our weird methods of communication, our reading into everything, our penchant for drama, and the presence of high heels, there's this bloody little hormone called estrogen, and, my golly, is it a party pooper or WHAT?!

I'm also warning you because I think medical stuff is fascinating. I mean, I was that student who went out and researched the Bubonic Plague because I wanted to know EXACTLY what it did to you that made it so terrible.
Besides, you know, KILL you.
FYI I still remember the major symptoms and all that jazz, so if you're worried you've contracted the black death, give me a ring. I'll help you out. ;]
So, medical weirdness, bizarre science, I LOVE IT. 
In fact, Chris and I have pretty much decided that, when I'm old and senile, I'm going to be a female version of Fringe's Walter Bishop--random amazement, too many wacky facts, love of the bizarre, and random food fixations. I'm going to be a ball in the nursing home, folks.

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And, um, for just a second can we talk about how AMAZING Fringe was??? I mean, REALLY. SO. GOOD.
If you haven't watched it, go to Netflix, and watch it ALL.
I think I need a rewatch because I need more Walter Bishop in my life.
Rant over.
For now.

Anyways, back to the point.
The problems all started with our miscarriage back in June. I try not to think about it, but the truth is, it has left a PHYSICAL mark, not just an emotional scar. The emotional wounds continue to slowly heal. The physical ones . . . The just keep coming.
I mean, really, my uterus is not giving me a break.
Thank you SO MUCH uterus. You're a pal.

 

First, just as we're like, "Okay, this whole ordeal is over. We're still balling our eyes out whenever there's ANYTHING about childbirth in movies or on facebook, but hey, we're dealing. We'll have a period and then it's all over, we can really heal."
Guess what doesn't show up?
L:adies, I have never ever EVER wanted Aunt Flo to come visit so badly. I mean, just seriously. I was begging her to come over and ruin me for a week because, hey that's what she does.
Once a month.
To every woman.
BECAUSE IT'S NORMAL.
And she didn't. Why? Because my uterus had an infection. . Apparently, some natural bacteria from, well, you know--her royal lady-ness--decided it wanted to try living further north where it should not be, and things just got pissy. Totally natural, no big deal, my doctor said, and we had it cleared up in two weeks.
And for those two weeks, I panicked over the state of my womanhood, my fertility, just everything.
For no real reason, apparently, because this was as major an issue as the common cold. Less than, maybe, because that sucker had a cure.

So . . . now I'm normal, right?

Nope. They wanted an ultrasound. Why?
BECAUSE THEY HAD FOUND A FLIPPIN MASS ON MY OVARY.
That's a word you never, ever EVER want to hear in a medical context. "Mass." They throw it around like it's nothing, but I've seen medical shows! I know what "mass" is a code word for, we all know.
So, again, I internally freak out for a week until I get that ultrasound. Again, the doctor says it's probably no big deal, but how do you not freak out?
There's something GROWING inside you. It could maybe be something that kills you. But don't be nervous or anything.
YEAH RIGHT.

But, I go, I get my ultrasound, they tell me that, yes, it is a growth, but it's 99.9% harmless unless it keeps growing. It's this thing called a dermoid.
Basically, as far as I understand, when my body started pumping pregnancy hormones, one little egg decided it was a radical, Amazonian feminist.  It said, "Screw sperm! Who needs sperm?? Stupid men! I'LL SHOW YOU I DON'T NEED YOU TO CREATE LIFE!!!" And, with that, it shook its little eggish fist and began dividing and multiplying . . .
Into a lifeless lump of tissue.
But you know, they've been found with hair and teeth, so, maybe there are tiny teeth in there, too. You know that scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding where the crazy aunt talks about the lump in her neck being her twin? Yeah, that was probably a dermoid.
Actually, this didn't freak me out. I thought it was COOL. See? Weird science thing. I had no idea that my body could do that. So I left, not feeling nervous at all. 

Welp, a week goes by. Aunt Flo FINALLY shows up, and I cry "NORMALITY!!!!" from the tops of the hills in victory. "I AM WOMAN AGAIN!!! I AM WHOLE!!!" I might have even sung a little tune to celebrate the wondrous return of PMS. It is such a gift, isn't it???

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My joy didn't last long. 

Because, you see, a week after that, I had a follow up with my doctor, and she's like, "You need surgery to remove that. Not an emergency right now, but it could grow too big and twist your ovary or rupture and that's incredibly painful and could be damaging so . . . let's get that puppy out. We'll go in through your belly button and use robotics and stuff."
Again, surgery doesn't freak me out.
Probably because the most major procedure I've had done were my wisdom teeth, and, again, I was fascinated. So, now, I'm thinking, Sweet, they're going to go all space-age on my abdomen and get my teethed-tissue-lump thing out. I wonder if I'll get to see it . . . You know, because it's all sciencey and stuff.

And then she tells me I can't be pregnant when they do the procedure . . . and then I just sort of smile awkwardly and say, "Um, sure, right but . . . what if I am? No one told us . . . well . . . uh . . . We want kids and um . . .  "

Peeps the LONGEST nine days of my life. I hate suspense. I just don't deal well with not knowing my future. And here I am torn between WANTING to be pregnant and WANTING to get this thing out of the way so I could be NORMAL and, eventually, have a NORMAL pregnancy, not one where I have to worry about dosing my baby with anesthesia and pain killers in OR having a surgery after delivery and having that mess dampen those precious moments with a newborn.
It's just messy. 

Well, it turns out that I'm not pregnant . . . I just thought this weekend I was going to die.
Seriously, people, I thought my womanhood was broken beyond repair.
Aunt Flo wasn't even this vicious during my physical miscarriage.
The pain wasn't really that bad--that was the only comfort I had this time around "Well, at least my insides are SCREAMING at me--but I was seriously worried that something else was bleeding. It was just weird.

I'm telling you, when we physically miscarried, I knew what was coming. Some very sweet friends shared their stories so I knew what to physically expect. My doctor gave me her number so I could call her when I was afraid I was bleeding to death. The only time I called was because it had been five hours and I was barely bleeding. I'm not afraid of blood, and, until recently, I wasn't afraid of my body.

This weekend, I was kind of terrified. So I call my doctor, leave two messages, and wait ALL DAY for her to call me back. Granted it was a Sunday. Who checks their messages on Sunday?? She calls me back, LAUGHING. Just sweetly chuckling, "Oh, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, what are we going to do with you?"
"I have no idea. I don't even know what to do with me."
And she proceeds to tell me that this Niagara Falls that is my body is acting totally normally. That there is nothing to be afraid of.  It's STILL just the physical aftermath of my miscarriage.
Let me lay out a timeline for you, peeps.
We found out we had lost the baby the first week in June.
We didn't physically miscarry until the last week in June.
It is now the middle of September.
AND I AM STILL NOT NORMAL.

I know that some people say that they recovered with no issue, but that is not every case. Some cases drag on for MONTHS, maybe longer. While the emotional wounds are slowly healing (I can actually talk about it without crying--Oh, I tear up, but I can mention it without uncontrolled sobbing or the strain to hold myself together as I fall apart at the seams), the physical is still working.  I am, for the first time ever, unsure about my body. I don't know what it's doing, I dont know what it wants, I don't know what it needs. It's WEIRD. It's unnerving, in a way. I am a stranger in my own meat suit.
I'm still trying to feel fully woman, again. 
I say this for one real reason:

1.  If you've lost child in pregnancy and you feel like your body has betrayed you, sweetheart, you are not even REMOTELY alone. Things do not just bounce back after a pregnancy has ended--naturally or medically. Recovery takes time. It's scary and it's weird.  If they tell you it's nothing, they are lying to you. Hormones do not go back to non-pregnancy mode overnight. 
   I say this in love, really and truly, because people and research made the miscarriage sound simple and easy, and it wasn't. Even if we had gone with a D&C, I don't think my recovery would have been speedy because hormones don't fix with an on/off switch. They have to deplete and then they have to come back.
   My body is not the same. Maybe one day it will be, but it's been three months, and I'm still not there.

So, now the next step is to set up a surgery appointment. Yay robots in my belly button . . . like the Matrix . . . or something . . .

And then, maybe, just MAYBE, after all that, I'll be normal. Really and truly normal.
Maybe.

So, anyways, thanks Uterus. 
I know you're upset about what happened, too, but, hey, at least I'm working on recovery. You could jump in and lend a hand any time you want. 

. . . Seriously, any time, now . . .