You have been warned. I won’t be responsible for any of your dewicate sensibiwities.
A while back when they came out with that Seasonique birth control that kept you at 4 periods a year instead of 12, I applauded. I was happy for the women who could use it and probably a wee jealous as well, but mostly just happy for them. I can’t use hormone birth control, it wacks my bipolar disorder to a degree that is…uncomfortable for everyone within a 50 mile radius. (it turned 2 days of PMS into 25)Anyway. Yay to the people who can take it. I even looked into it, thinking perhaps I could take more lithium or something to balance it out, because the thought of 4 periods a year, even if they were heavy and gross, was BEYOND appealing…it was like thinking about Christmas! The Good Dr. H (my psychiatrist) was even willing to consider it. He seemed to think maybe taking a bit more of the antidepressant would do the trick. O joy!
So then I thought well ok…and I looked into the insurance angle of it. Seasonique isn’t cheap. Even if you factor in the reduced expenses of the pads, the Midol, the cheetoes, the chinese food, the ammunition…all that, it’s still really expensive. But that’s what insurance is for, right? Wouldn’t the reduced possibility of putting someone else in the hospital or morgue be worth the added expense, O Insurance company? Sure it would, you’d think. But it’s not, apparently, and our policy doesn’t cover Seasonique. O sure, it will send El Presidente to the most expensive cancer clinic on the planet to get radioactive balls inserted into his groin, but then his policy is the Executive Version and not the Regular Guy Version…so naturally our insurance only covers the ordinary birth control pill. Because the idea that one of the female larborers might actually only be out 4 days a year due to PMS instead of 12 is silly.
Anyway. I was thinking about Seasonique about 2 am last night, as that diaper they call “overnight” level pads was soaking through and making a mess, and wishing I could go ahead and do something like…y’know…reach up my vagina and rip out my uterus…i mean it would feel like labor, something I’ve done 4 times already and twice for over 24 hours and I could probably rip that sucker right out in a few minutes only my arms are short and my body is long and I am fairly sure Terry would be reluctant to try it.
My periods have changed as I’ve aged. For 28 years they remained the same: 4 days long, one day of relatively heavy bleeding, no cramps. None. I never had cramps. So sue me. It was predictable. So regular I could say “ok ,it will start about 2 am, better stick in a pad tonight.” I took it all for granted and kind of laughed at women how were surprised or made uncomfortable or complained about cramps and bloating.
Then I turned 40. And God said “haha..”
Suddenly, it was 35 days between periods (my word how that caused panic, even tho I had my tubes tied after Eli was born) or maybe 25 days. or 20. or 40. hello? what??
Suddenly I’d have 2 or 3 days of cramps before anything happened. Or none. Suddenly I would bleed for a week. Or 10 days. Or 3. Or I’d have 4 days of heavy bleeding with clots. Or not. Who knew? Not me. I have no idea what to expect anymore.
I talked to my gynocologist about this, disturbed by the changes and convinced something awful was happening. She said that I’d turned 40, had 4 children and no, I was not dying of uterine cancer nor was I covered up with endometriosis. I was fine. And no, she would not remove my uterus just because I wasn’t having a good relationship with it anymore.
What I want to know is this: How come the heavy bleeding only happens at night? During the day, no big deal. But at night, laying there and not moving around? Suddenly I’m having to change the sheets and use the peroxide (awesome at removing bloodstains, if you’ve never tried it. It reduces the iron in the blood, turning the red to clear so buh-bye blood stain) and I wake up at 2 am feeling like there’s a wet placenta between my legs and it’s squishy and…
ok you know what cracks me up every time? These Sacred Moon Blood womyn. The ones who make mentruation out to be this MystikalMagikalooowooo event because men can’t do it.
In the word of someone who isn’t me: fuck that shit. You can take these sacred back breaking cramps and blood stains on my sheets and worry about going into public for fear of the dam breaking and bleeding all over someone’s antique chair and shove it right up your Sacred Blood Portal.
now where’s my damn cheetoes.