Out of Control

My body is out of control.  I feel like whomever is in charge of it needs to get their sh*t together and teach it how to act.  Like when there is a toddler throwing a fit at Wal-mart, and you try not to be judgy, but the whole time you’re thinking to yourself, “Wow.  That thing’s owner needs to teach it how to behave in civilized society.  Because nobody wants to see that.”

If you’re squeamish about women stuff, you might want to look away now.

So, last week I was so bloated and fat that I went and bought new underwear, two new pairs of pants, and three shirts.  I couldn’t fit into any of my clothes.  It was awful.  Then my period finally started, and this week I’ve tried to wear the new things I bought, and they are GIANT.  My pants were falling down at work yesterday.  I was walking down the hall looking like a teenage rapper.

I swear to you, yesterday I was having my period and ovulating at the very same time.  All at once.

Last month there was a grand total of two weeks when I wasn’t having a period.  I had one that lasted about nine days.  Two weeks after it ended, another one started up.  What the hell is that?!  That is not okay.

Plus, now I have cramps for about a week before my period even starts.  Then I have more cramps for about a week after.  If you’ve seen me in the last few months, trust me, I had cramps.  I should buy stock in an ibuprofen company.  I think I’m single-handedly keeping them in business.  I live with a heating pad on me.  I have one on my couch, one in my bed, and one in my office.

Then there are the boobs.  Out. Of. Control.  I mentioned to someone the other day that I’d had a breast reduction in my twenties.  This person gave me a look that asked, “Well how big were they before?!  Like did you have two Volkswagens on your chest?!”

No.  They were smaller before my surgery than they are now.  They grew back.  And then some.  Nobody tells you this can happen.  They just keep growing for your whole life long until your body is nothing but two breasts with feet.

And two weeks out of every month, they hurt.  Bad.  And when your boobs take up most of your body, this means 90% of your body hurts.  It’s awful.  I seriously envy small-breasted women.  If you’re tall with little boobs, I want to be you.

I recently went to my annual girlie doctor visit, and I discussed all these issues with her.  She sent me for a sonogram to see what’s what down there.  Whaddaya know?  There’s crap down there that shouldn’t be.  Nothing too scary, but there are multiple cysts, multiple fibroids, some endometriosis.  A virtual smorgasbord of things that could go wrong in your reproductive system and did in mine.

So, next week I’m having surgery.  They offered me a complete hysterectomy, of course, since I’m 44 and have had various girlie challenges since I was 10.  I said no.  I’m not ready to let go of that part of me just yet, if I don’t have to, and the surgeon thought that was just fine.  He’s going in (laparoscopically) and taking out all the random bits that are not supposed to be Janet’s Body.

I’ve had surgery before, so I’m not scared really.  Mostly I can’t wait to not have cramps all month and periods that last nine days.  What I’m nervous about is the logistics.  The first time I had surgery, I was married.  The second time, I was with R.  Both times, Mom was there.  This time, I have several friends and family members who have offered to drop me off, pick me up, bring me meals, etc…  Which is super nice.  But not the same as having someone (or two someones, if you’re so lucky) you know and love there with you the whole time.

I went out on a limb here, and I asked my dad to come stay with me.  This might be normal for a normal family, but I assure you, it’s not normal for us.  The last time Dad and I spent 48 hours alone together, I was three.  I think it will be good, don’t get me wrong, and I’m grateful he agreed.  But it’s going to be different.  And then I’m gonna have crap cut out of me.

At any rate, my hope is that my body will soon be a little bit more under control and a lot more properly functioning.  If you’re so inclined, you could say a little prayer for me later this week.  If you’re not, please just send me positive energy, or think kindly of me.  And hug your uterus.

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