Here it is 2009 and somehow with the marvels of modern medicine, women are still menstruating. Some are blessed with the three day period, while other are lucky to put together three blood-free days. I have recently become a member of the latter group. I would give anything to live one week without a single thought of my uterus. I am not kidding when I say my uterus is angry.
After two solid months of bleeding, a serious sex drive killer, I couldn't take one more day. I called the OB/GYN office. Of course, due to multiple changes in insurance coverage, I hadn't been seen in stirrups at this particular clinic in quite some time. In fact, the kind receptionist informed me that the doctor that had delivered my son had passed away; however, they have a wonderful new doctor that is taking patients. She asked if I'd be comfortable trying out the new doctor.
Comfortable? Trying out a new doctor? Of course! Anything had to be better than an endless period, and much less awkward than be examined by my deceased former doctor. What the heck? At this point I don't care who is available-JUST GET ME IN! Ten years ago, before giving birth to my son with 40 people in the room, comfort may have been an issue. This woman had no idea who she was dealing with!
"Yeah, that's fine. When is the next available appointment?"
"Oh, Ms. Edwards, I think we can get you in on a Thursday. Ah, yes. Three weeks from today at 8:15 a.m."
"That's the earliest? Okay, fine. Sign me up!"
"You will be receiving paperwork in the mail......"
Seriously? Three weeks? Whatever! This woman had no idea what she was dealing with! I may bleed to death, or kill someone in that time frame. Kind receptionists just made it to the top of my black list. Meanwhile, my sex life is tanking which is freeing me up to research exactly why women are required to have periods.
"Yeah, I'll bring that in as soon as I receive it. And, what if I happen to be bleeding the day of my appointment?"
"Oh, Ms. Edwards. This could present a problem. We can schedule a time when you won't be bleeding. Hmmm... but some of the doctors are willing to examine you anyway. Ah, yes. The new doctor is one of those doctors. You should be fine."
"That's great, because there is no scheduling around periods in my world. I am one giant punctuation."
Isn't that interesting? There are gynecologists in the world that don't see bleeding women. That's like priests that don't see sinners. That reminds me! In my pursuit of answers, I should call my ex-husband.
Not long after I left him, he found God....again, for the third time in his life. (That might be because he was on his third divorce. Coincidence?) Organized religion would be my answer to James Lipton's question, "What turns you off?" But, I can see the value of subjecting my kid to it. I am a firm believer in keep your enemies closer. That will be impossible for him if I don't let his father submerse him in the lunatic rantings of the Christian church. You can't argue against something if you don't truly understand the opposing position. I'm working really hard at raising a liberal mind, sensitive man.
One day, my son came home from his dad's house and said, "Mom, I know why women have so much pain when they have a baby."
He was quite impressed with his new knowledge. I knew we were about to hit some shaky ground. I let him go on and on about the Tree of Knowledge, the devil, and then....it happened. He actually said women are cursed! UGH! After nearly chewing my own tongue off, I decided it was time for a biology lesson. After covering the physical aspects, we discussed the role of religion. In times when science couldn't explain our world, we created very elaborate stories to help us understand our world. Somehow, I was able to work through that whole situation with out using words like ignorant, crazy, or cult!
At this point even I was willing to look to the Good Book for answers! I seriously considered calling up the ex to find out why in the hell women have periods. We were married for 8 years. I don't think he'd be surprised at all by the call. The only thing that stopped me was I didn't want him to know my sex life was on the rocks. The best revenge is to go on and have a really great life. He would have a silent victory knowing that I was bleeding NON-STOP! I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. I just decided that menstruation was part of the painful child-bearing curse. Why not?
This is a great place to explain what I mean by research. There is a place in this world for super scientific, well controlled research- but that's not what I' m really looking for here. Via the Internet, I'm certain I could get my hands on juried articles that give detail information on the the healthiness of women, as it relates to periods. My purpose of research in much more self-serving in this particular venture. What I'm really after is the exact terminology women use that lead to a doctor agreeing to a hysterectomy. I'm 33 years old. Periods are ludicrous at this stage. I'd rather hang from a yardarm than have a baby. I'd also like to convince the doctor that if I don't get back to my regular, if not frequent, sex life there will be no reason to keep the live-in boyfriend around. See-periods ruin lives.
Once I completely convince the new doctor that periods just aren't for me, I will have to present other options...then shoot them down. He needs to be convince that a hysterectomy is the only option. Hopefully, he will be convinced that my uterus is much like tonsils, an appendix, wisdom teeth! USELESS! Hmm...if only I could convince him to bring in a team of surgeons so that I could donate a lung, kidney, and part of my liver. Hell, that would be twenty pounds of useless innards. I could quit working out for a little while.
I was armed with all the information I thought I would need, and I was bleeding. It was the perfect storm! If bleeding wasn't really an issue, why wouldn't I just reschedule? As usual, the medical assistant tells me she needs a urine sample. I ask her where I can find the uterus donation box. She laughs, and directs me to the bathroom. The bathroom has two doors. I'm not really sure what was on the other side of the door I didn't use, but I could hear a woman talking. It sounded like she was talking to her mother, and that the mother was the one that has just been examined. I just kept wondering if either woman still had her uterus. Well, no time for being pee shy. I'm hoping they will be a little more disturbed by the sound of my urination than I am knowing they are just on the other side of the door. The sooner I fill the specimen cup, the sooner I get to talk to the new doctor.
One more step and I get to go back to the examination room. It's the questionnaire. You know the one they don't send to your home in advance. I used to think I had to fill this out just to pass the time. Now, I think of it as a pre-test. They are quizzing you on how much knowledge you have regarding your options. I wrote permanent birth control on that sheet about ten different times. I wonder if the doctor is even going to read this? If not, at least I had the opportunity to reinforce my goal before having to be examined.
"Here is a vest for the top, and a sheet for the bottom, " the medical assistant said with a smile before closing the door. I hate this part! I don't mind getting naked. I neatly fold my clothes, hide my underwear, and pair my shoes under the chair. I sit on the table with the paper sheet over my lap. Then, I have to figure out the damn paper vest. Open in the back or front? Keep in mind this is one-size-fits-all. If I leave it open in the front and pull it closed, my boobs fall out the arm holes! So, if I put on backwards, I look like a complete idiot; however, I'm covered. Before I could decide, there is a knock at the door. There must be a mistake, because I haven't had time to read all of the posters on the wall, let alone determine how to where the vest.
"Just a minute!"
"Oh, sorry. I'll come back."
It only took me about 15 seconds to finish settling into my new paper clothes, but I was thankful for the a couple of poster-reading minutes. There was a knock at the door again.
"Come in."
The doctor introduced himself. I realized he was about the same age as me. It was bound to happen someday. He apologized for knocking early, and said he thought it would be a good idea to install a light switch for women to flip when they are ready. He sat down on the spinning stool at the end of the examine table, and then asked me how I was doing. Whoa! He completely threw me off my game. My dead gynecologist was always all business in the exam room. Once i was completely clothed, I would go to his office. That is where we discussed all of the things I was concerned about. Was he really having the talk while I was wearing paper clothes? Well, if not, I was still running with it. I had a lot to say...SURPRISE! Thank God I put the paper vest on backwards, otherwise I would've been chatting with one of the sisters hanging out!
I made it clear that I do not want periods, EVER. He just laughed. Amazingly enough, he said some women are deeply connected to the monthly ritual. Are you kidding me? Makes you feel like a woman? It makes me feel broken, unavailable for fun, unable to focus on anything but my uterus. Am I really the odd ball, or just a progressive thinker? According to my friends, I'm a little of both. He noted exactly how many times I used the term permanent on my pass-the-time questionnaire. Now he had my attention. He actually read it. So, he doesn't do the after-exam office chat, but this guy might be exactly my kind of doctor. So maybe he doesn't get the straight truth from other women wearing paper clothes, but he hasn't met me yet.
It's exam time.
"Put your feet right here," he said, as if I wasn't familiar with stirrups. "Okay. Scoot down. A little more...No one has ever fallen off the end of the table."
At this point, even with my feet in the stirrups, I sit straight up and say, "I'm not worried about falling off. I just didn't want to scare you," to which the doctor responds, "I did get one wheel of the stool stuck in this vent before."
This is definitely the doctor for me! Nothing like a little humor before someone checks out all the goods. Maybe it's the lack of generation gap, or the Super-S tattoo on my thigh that appeals to his geekiness-but we definitely connected on a purely patient/doctor level. There was some hope that I could easily convince this guy to gut me.
When it was all said and done, we came to an agreement. My uterus would stay intact, and we would try an IUD with hormones that would ideally stop my periods and last for five years. Lovely, it's like a sterilization test drive. For the next five years, I don't have to worry about pregnancy and with any luck i will be period free. All I have to do is come in and be patient for six months while my IUD and uterus become friends. At the moment, it seemed like a good idea.
Three weeks and hundreds of dollars later, I went back to the clinic. Of course, I drive myself because I know the size of an IUD. If I can give birth, I can certainly drive myself home after a simple IUD insertion. How bad can it possibly be? I took the four recommended pain relievers before I went to the office, which was more pills than I had ingested than in the previous six months. I will be just fine...right?
Ah, another urine sample, another questionnaire, and finally I was in the exam room. Paper sheet only this time. There was no reason for the paper vest this time, which lessened the stress of this visit. Nor was there any pre-exam chat while wearing paper clothes. Instead, I replaced the chat with pre-procedure humor. There was a knock at the door.
"Come in!"
"How are you today?"
"Great!" I said with a smile. "By the way, a friend of mine pointed out that we always hide our underwear when we come to see the gynecologist. Notice-I have hung mine from the hook over there. Why not?"
Okay, I didn't do or say that, but I just might on my follow up visit.
When we came to the end, the doctor felt that silver nitrate was in order. "We wouldn't want you to leave a bloody trail," were his exact words!
The medical assistant appeared a little panicked. There wasn't any silver nitrate in the room. She apologized and left the room. This is apparently like taboo, because she was sweating when she finally came back with the silver nitrate in hand. "I'm so sorry honey! I'm really, really sorry!" she said.
She was only gone about thirty seconds. I'm not sure if she was concerned that I may have bled to death during that short time. If she had spent any time reading my chart she would've realized that was barely a blip on my radar. The only other thing she may have been concerned with is that I was afraid to be left alone with a man in this compromising position. Although not ideal, I'm pretty certain the good doctor is just that.
That was that. All of my problems should be resolved as long as I am willing to give it six months...
Then the cramps set in! I'm not a sis when it comes to pain. Let's remember that I experienced child birth without any pain relief. But, dear Lord, I thought I was going to give birth to a damn guinea pig! I finished off the Advil, then the Aleve. Are you kidding me? This was ridiculous, especially considering that there was no guarantee that this would rid me of, dare I say, the curse. Day one of my six months was next to unbearable. Moving forward to day two....WORSE! I would have cramps so bad that I had goosebumps erupt all over my body! My uterus is acting out and she isn't playing nice with her new friend. My uterus is very clearly ANGRY.
It's been two weeks. I'm still what we call in a woman's world-spotting. Translation: bleeding just enough to make any type of sexual contact uncomfortable. My sex life is still on the rocks. Lives still may be ruined. But in the mean time, I'm focused on the next 5 1/2 months. Hopefully, they will not be filled with sexually frustrated outbursts, homicides, or too much blood and gore. I'll keep you posted.
-M
