0

A weird thought

A few days ago my friends and I started joking about turning my body parts into characters in a novel. I was building out a whole storyline based on my medical history, not just about the problems with my uterus.

But, the more I thought about my uterus as a character (played by Julia Roberts), the weirder it got. I have this image in my head of Uterus standing outside of a house, sad and lonely, having just been kicked out by everyone else because she’s been so disruptive (screaming and throwing blood everywhere).

I have always been the person who felt bad for stuffed animals left over at the end of a season, and I tended to buy them myself. When I see someone who’s been excluded, I feel bad. So then I got to feeling bad about kicking Uterus out.

I mean, it is weird, the idea of taking a part of your body and essentially throwing it away. However, if my arm were causing me the kind of problems my uterus does, that shit would be off my body so fast. My cycle (or lack thereof) wreaks havoc in my life. On top of all my other conditions, I just cannot deal with it. It is a physical and mental strain I just don’t want to deal with anymore.

This isn’t about me not physically having children. The idea of being pregnant hasĀ always freaked me out. It seems like a parasite just taking your nutrients and making you feel like shit. In my opinion, there is nothing LESS NATURAL than dealing with that for 9 months and then trying to shove something the size of a small watermelon out of something the size of a lemon. I hear the hormones make it so you don’t remember any of that mess, which is how mothers are able to love their children.

Still.

I also know what happens next in the scene. The people in the house feel bad about kicking Uterus out, so they let her back in. You know what she does next? She continues to go apeshit, shrieking and throwing blood everywhere. HOW ABOUT NO?

I’ve played this game with my uterus before. Thinking everything is getting better only to learn that no, everything is the fucking same. While that sounds like a party, I think I’ll pass. I’m over having Carrie as my uterus.

So, goodbye and good riddance.

I hate doctors: Part 76,589

Y’all know about the troubles with my uterus, so I’m not going to go into them again, except to add that this summer I had a 90-day stretch of bleeding WHILE ON PROVERA. Yes, you read that correctly – NINETY DAYS.

And for funsies, 10 of them were of the “how am I still alive to bleed anymore” variety. So yeah, that was fun. I was good and kept going to the gym, but not without nearly destroying a ton of my workout pants.

Anyway, I’m desperate to get rid of my uterus. It’s been the bane of my existence since 2002. I “became a woman” (God do I HATE that expression) in 1995. That means that for 7 years things were fine, and for the last 15 they have been absolute shit. Just complete and utter shit (not unlike Trumplestiltskin).

I figured, what with 90 days of bleeding, the doctor would agree that shit is really fucked up and it’s time to just get rid of the damn thing. At a minimum I expected that we’d at least follow up and make sure that the endometrial hyperplasia is gone (that was my diagnosis after the D&C).

Well, there’s a new head consultant in town and he doesn’t think the endometrial hyperplasia is a big deal. Uh, what? That seems like something we should follow up on since it causes an increased risk for cancer (not a huge risk, 1%, but I’d still like to just make sure).

Not only will we not follow up on that, he just wanted me on more drugs to deal with the heavy bleeding. Hormones haven’t really worked for me in the past (see above re: 90 days of bleeding while on progestin), so I’m not sure why he thinks that would fix things.

We went round and round about the Mini Pill or an IUD, neither of which I want. So then we chatted about a hysterectomy. We chatted at length. “You don’t want kids?” “No, I don’t.” “What if you change your mind?” “I won’t.” “Well, hypothetically, people can change their minds.” “Yes, I agree with you. But I’m me.”

I explained all the reasons I don’t want my uterus: My body can’t sustain a pregnancy, I’m like quadruple high-risk (diabetes, thyroid issue, lupus, age), I have mental health conditions that are heritable and I have NEGATIVE interest in passing them on, even if the chance is slim.

He went on to tell me that it could be a complicated surgery. Yes, thanks, I get that. I’ve had a SPINAL FUSION.

My favorite part was this exchange:

Doctor: I cannot make you take treatment you do not want.
Me: That’s true.
Doctor: Similarly, you cannot make me do a treatment I do not want to do.
Me: That’s also true.

So we hit an impasse. I didn’t want what he offered and he didn’t do what I think is best for my body.

I got so frustrated I cried.

This guy could not let go of the fertility aspect. Even though he asked me at one point, “You’re 36, don’t use contraception, and you’ve never been pregnant.”

HOSTILE UTERUS, DUDE. GET WITH THE PROGRAM.

Seriously though, this was a waste of an hour of my time that I am not going to get back. He HEARD me but he damn sure wasn’t LISTENING. I have had major problems for FIFTEEN YEARS. YEARS, my friend. And that’s enough?

The fact that I’m telling you how much it impacts my life to bleed heavily and for extended periods of time isn’t enough. I made him well aware of the list of other conditions I have. Did not matter.

Ultimately he passed me off to another doctor to talk about an endometrial ablation. I left unsatisfied because I was pretty sure that wasn’t the answer. Some research later, it’s definitely not. I’ll still meet with that doctor and see if I can convince her of the validity of my choice for a hysterectomy.

If she can’t help me, then I’ll talk to someone else. And if they don’t work, someone else. I will go until someone is going to fucking listen to me and UNDERSTAND where *I*, their patient, am coming from.