I've shed a lot of tears the past few days and you know what? It's complete and total bullshit when someone tells you that you should cry because it will make you feel better. It doesn't. It makes you feel worse. You realize that you are a tit bag and then you cry more because you are being so ridiculous. Then when you cry more over being so ridiculous you try to stop crying but you can't because you are choking back sobs. Minutes later, you have the worst sinus pressure ever. Crying is so not worth it. From now on when I am sad, I'm just going to kick someone.
Yesterday, I received a call from my doctor with results from an ultrasound that was done. They told me that I had Adenomyosis and Endometriosis, only the later being something I had ever heard of. Leave it to me to catch some damn thing I don't know. The doctor scheduled me an appointment to see a specialist and explained to me that I would more than likely have to have a complete hysterectomy. Lovely. Although I have popped kids out of my vagina like Mexicans come out of a Pinto, I really wanted to have a child (or at least the ability to reproduce one). I'm in a relationship with a man that has no children and after being around mine, may never want any... but you never know. I would like to keep his options open though. The news crushed and frustrated me. Back in 2007 I had a laparoscopy done because for years I had been told I had Endometriosis and it was time to know for sure. After surgery the doctor showed pictures to Larry and pointed out white masses on my uterus and explained that it was scar tissue, more than likely from a severe infection. He then listed a few things that I should be tested for, one being Interstitial Cystitis and then another being something Larry can't remember but said it could only be identified after death (so it doesn't matter). So, I moved on to another doctor and then another.
After numerous trips to doctors I finally gave up and thought it was all in my head, fabrications of a deranged mind. My family doctor told me to go see a Uro-Gynecologist that was amazing at finding out what problems people had, so of course I went. In late May of 2007 I underwent a cytoscopy with hydrodistention. Not a pleasant thing. They stick a tube in your crotch and pump you full of as much liquid as your bladder can hold without exploding. Besides having to sit in something that looked like an electric chair and feeling like I was going to piss on the floor, I then had the wonderful experience of a camera being inserted in my pee-hole. I was going to get to watch myself piss on the doctor ON CAMERA! Sweet! Long story short, the nice little video showed the inside of my bladder was a paper-thin membrane with pin-point hemorrhages. I got the official diagnosis of Interstitial Cystitis, a painful disease with no cure. Lovely! The first few months after diagnosis was hell. The doctor claimed my case was a severe one and recommended a lot of medication and physical therapy. Yes, physical therapy for my kooch. I referred to them as "koochie calisthenics" . Three days I week I would drive to St. Luke's Physical Therapy and let them massage my cooter and do "shock therapy" on it. If you think your life is bad, try taking your crotch to P.T., then call me. I had an $80 a day co-pay for someone to rub my nub when I am sure I could have found someone to do it for free.
Jump 3 years forward and NUMEROUS trips to the hospital, MRI's, CT Scans, X-Rays, Ultrasounds, infections, blood tests, various doctors and then... Endometreosis raises it's bastard head again. I don't know how I'm going to cope with this. People tell me that I am the strongest person they know, while sometimes I think I'm the weakest because I should have "offed" myself by now. My life has been one shit trap after another. All I can do at this point is hold on to every shred of sanity and hope that I have left and clutch onto the things that I have been blessed with. While I lost out in the "health" department, I do have love with a man I could never deserve, I do have three beautiful and talented children with the most wonderful hearts, I do have a best friend that I know will hold my hand through it all and I do have other great people that have already dealt with how much of a bitch I am already. I've been through worse and I've come out on the other side. It's just that this time I will possibly be walking down the empty tunnel that was once where my reproductive organs were stored. I'm going to have to make a trip to Cirilla's. Do you know if they have fake wieners that have lawnmower motors? It's going to take a lot more to make momma happy when she has a cavernous hole.
Being that I'm a man I'm not going to go so far as to say I know how you feel. I can't possibly truly understand. I'm also not going to tell you your wrong about crying. Everyone is different. I will say this. I have watched someone close to go through similar situations with her girly parts. Doctors without a clue, feeding us bullshit about this or that, and eventually just yanking out all her shit. Its hard, it sucks, and I know that it looks like a situation you can't cope or live with. That I know you can. I am a firm believer in things happen for a reason. Maybe there is a reason that you need this to happen. That reason may not be known now, but there is a purpose. Maybe the sickness you have will mutate into some kind of cancer if you don't have this done. Maybe afterwords you'll learn some new aspect of yourself that you didn't know you had in you. Maybe losing your ability to reproduce will teach you some new aspect of parenting the kids you already have. Maybe, I'm just full of shit. The point of this is in time I truly believe you will understand what all this shit that happens to us is about. Maybe not until your old, or maybe not until after you die. In the end, it will make sense.
ReplyDeleteOn a lighter note, I don't think a lawnmower cock will be needed. I've slept with a woman before and after the surgery, and from a mans point of view there is no difference. From her point of view there was no difference either. The big O was no harder to find.