OK, what's up with this? Two of my friends (count 'em -- TWO) are having hysterectomies in February. I'm so damned jealous that I think I'm going to have a hissy fit. Right here, right now!
I'm not entirely sure what it takes. One friend was told (by her doctor) that she has a "big ol' blob" in there.
The other friend was told (by her doctor) that she has "a big ol' bag of marbles" in there.
Can't they find something lurking/rattling/rolling around in my "in there"? Of course I don't mean anything life-threatening, just -- something that doesn't belong? "My God, you've got radishes growing in there!" I'd be OK with that.
There was a time not too long ago, that I wouldn't have felt this way. I fondly thought of my uterus as "Nate's home for nine months", and the idea of it being yanked out was rather sad. Now?
Yank it!
I am sooooooo done with that bitch, Auntie Flo. She drains me! She turns me into a ravaging, venom-spewing, well, BITCH. (Must be in the genes, har har).
Whenever I've made specific complaints to my doctor, I get this: "Oh, well you know, it's common for your age, it's not out of the ordinary, blah blah blah." I'm surprised I didn't get a fond pat on the head. So what that means is I'm supposed to put up with this crap? Haven't I paid my dues? (And how do you know I don't have a blob or a bag of marbles in there?)
OK, so one of these friends has been kind enough to give me her OB-GYN's name and I'm getting a referral and we'll just SEE if within the next couple of months or so I, too, will be able to enjoy some significant time off from work and be at the beck and call of my child and my husband who will have to pamper me, such as handing me the TV remote that's beyond my reach because the weenie dogs are cuddling up to my nether-regions like furry hot water bottles and they refuse to budge.
