I hate being a woman sometimes.........

My body hates me.


  I know every woman thinks that at least once a month, but in my case, it really does. I suffer from (careful, I'm about to toss out some giant words at you) dysmenorrhea combined with a nasty case of menorrhagia. In layman's terms, once a month for 7 days straight, my uterus violently tears itself apart while I curl into a ball and cry myself silly.

Dear uterus, I hate you.

   I have been to the doctors so that we could confirm once and for all that it wasn't cancer bringing me to my knees once a month. I underwent numerous tests that made me believe that modesty doesn't count for anything, especially when your gynecologist is a "teaching" doctor. All the nail biting and poking and prodding in the world just to find out that indeed, "No, ma'am. You don't have cancer eating you up, your uterus just doesn't like you very much." No cancer, no tumors, not even any polyps  Just one uterus, upset that I had three children in successive order along with a bout of hereditary pre-cancerous cervical lesions. Delightful.

    I have discussed treatment options and the lowest risk one of course didn't help. The other two are surgical options and I am cautious with anything surgical. Anesthesia makes me believe I am a prize fighter.Which can be hysterical for everyone else, but when it is you that is yelling obscenities from the recovery room and punching nurses it just doesn't hold the same appeal.  Nurses don't like to be punched, they tend to get very upset. But that is a story for another day!

    I really do want the treatment, which will be them taking my hateful uterus out, but in this economy it can be hard. I'm the main bread-winner in our household. If I have to take a month or more off from work, it will affect us. At the same time, I dislike how during this time, I can't cuddle with my kids because I don't even want anyone touching me. I can't hold a civil discussion to save my life. I get upset over the smallest things. I usually spend my days downing midol with a vengeance and trying my best not to be too mobile. The less I move the better I can tolerate it. I spend my evenings curled on the couch with my heating pad turned to the highest setting and trying not to growl at my loving spouse and offspring. They understand what is happening, daddy carefully explained to them that mommy is "broken." I know one day I will be able to have my surgery and I won't have to worry about all this. Until then, I will be carrying on a love affair with my heating pad for the next few days. Thank goodness for my loving family.