You guys know my uterus ate an IUD, right? When Doc tried to remove it, it BROKE, which apparently “never” happens, and so I had to go under anesthesia for a hysteroscopy to try to locate and remove the remaining piece of the IUD that is still stuck up in my hoo-ha.
That procedure was unsuccessful.
Afterward, I stuffed my feelings with food for a few days and refused to exercise until suddenly one day I decided I was Wonder Woman and could return to my normal running distance of five miles with absolutely no working back into it like an intelligent person would do. Also I thought it would be a fantastic idea to run in the middle of the afternoon when it was a hundred freaking degrees outside.
I did hear that logical inner voice that says, “maybe wait ’til later when it’s cooler, and perhaps only run two or three miles,” but I told that bitch to shut the hell up. This is MY body; I am SICK AND TIRED of things happening to my body that are totally out of my control! MINE MINE MINE!
As I began mile four I was so over-heated that I broke out in goosebumps. You know something’s amiss when you’re getting goosebumps in hundred-degree heat. So I switched to the shady side of the road and walked, which is basically the same as quitting for me. I HATE WALKING.
After about a half-mile of walking I felt better and decided I could run the remaining mile. But my body had other plans…
Yes, I’m going to talk about poop.
I had been logically concerned that any cramps would stem from the uterine region, but ohhhhhh NO. These cramps were of a different variety. And I still had a half-mile between me and my toilet. If you’ve ever had the experience of I-MUST-GO-NOW-OR-I-WILL-DIE, you won’t be in the least bit surprised that I was weighing the following options:
1) Pooping in the bushes. People would definitely see me and there would be no hiding what I was doing, because (OF COURSE) the lawn guys were there that day. But at least it wouldn’t be…
2) Pooping in my pants. Because maybe, just maybe, I could make it home before any leaked out and marked me as a total lunatic and social pariah in my idyllic gated community of people who always keep their flower beds free of weeds and their sidewalks edged and bleached.
3) Knocking on one of my neighbor’s doors and explaining that I had recently had a “procedure” done (because then maybe they’ll feel sorry for me) and I was having an “emergency” and could I please use their bathroom?
4) Trying like hell to make it home before any of the first three options became unavoidable.
I went with number four. If you had seen me walking those last few steps to my house, there would have been no question in your mind as to what my problem was. No one waddles like that for any other reasons besides they are squeezing their ass-cheeks together in a desperate attempt to prevent an impending explosion.
Throwing my hat, phone, headphones, and water bottle on the ground and ripping open my garage-door’s keypad would have clued you in if you found the waddling confusing. As the garage door was opening, I wanted to bend under it and run inside to get to the toilet faster, but I was afraid to bend, lest… well, you know. That’s how bad it was.
But I made it, you guys. I successfully did NOT poop my pants. Sometimes you have to celebrate the little victories. Of course I blame all of the foregoing on my embedded IUD and the subsequent procedure, rather than on my inability to use common sense. IT’S ALL THE IUD’S FAULT!!!
Several days later, I was sitting at my computer when I felt a funny feeling… women, you know that feeling you get when you just know aunt Flo is coming, like right now and you better getcho ass in the bathroom? That feeling.
If blood grosses you out, get out now. GET OUT NOW BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.
The second I stepped into the bathroom, I felt a gush. I horrible, awful, no-this-is-NOT-happening GUSH. A through-the-underwear, through-(my favorite)-denim-cut-offs, all-the-way-to-my-knees gush. Horrified and one-hundred percent certain I was dying, I sat down on the toilet, only to experience another disgusting torrent of blood that filled the toilet and turned the water black.
I’m shaking as I write this. Because I honestly thought I was dying. I barked at my three-year-old to go get my phone while trying to hide the blood from her as much as I could. “Mommy’s got a little booboo, but don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt!” *big fake grin*
Who do you call first when you think you’re about to die? 911? Husband? Neighbor? (To come get my baby so she doesn’t have to watch and end up one of those sad stories you hear about where the little toddler is left alone with a body for a few hours? OMG.)
But the bleeding stopped, or at least the gushing did. And after taking a few deep breaths I was able to take stock of the situation, i.e., no pain, bleeding has slowed down, I wasn’t light-headed. So I called my doctor. As I dialed, I saw one little brown eye peeking at me through the crack in the doorway. “I don’t like what just happened, mommy,” she whispered.
Two hours later I was having an ultrasound performed, which revealed that everything was “fine.” It seems that my cervix was blocked and was preventing normal blood-flow from escaping the way it typically should after the kind of procedure I’d undergone. Plus the intense physical activity… that makes you bleed more. I think I was “storing” blood in there for about four days. Effin’ GROSS, huh?
This morning I had my post-op appointment. Doc explained in more detail how my IUD is embedded. It’s fully inside of my uterine muscle, which is why he couldn’t scrape it out with a hysteroscopy. Which explains why I now have this mental image of my uterus, laden with glowing and humming electronic paraphernalia, saying things like, “You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.”
Doc also clarified that when we’re talking about removing this thing and he says “hysterectomy,” he’s not talking about a total hysterectomy. He’s talking about taking only the uterus, but leaving the ovaries and cervix. In spite of sounding super-GROSS, this would leave me more or less intact for a woman my age, meaning I wouldn’t have to go through menopause at the tender age of thirty-four. I’ll probably end up doing that.
But later. For now, I’ve got other shizz to do, like train for Tough Mudder, which is coming up this November. We’ll see how I feel after all of that and then reassess the situation.
Okay, I need to take a second to get all mushy-gushy on you guys… Every time one of you comments and says something supportive, or funny, or any random crap that just lets me know you care, it gives me warm fuzzy feelings. I seriously almost cry sometimes. Especially with all this IUD stuff, it’s been so comforting knowing that I’m not alone and that you awesome people are sending all that positive juju my way. So really really really: THANK YOU.
|I am probably the only person who thinks this is hilarious.|