Content warning: do not read this if you are a man of delicate sensibilities. You have been warned.
I’ve written before about the gynecological issues I’ve had in the past. Things like 10 days of copious bleeding, unremitting cramps, and snarling PMS. Well, 2 out of the 3 have been remedied. Thank You God, for giving people brains and solutions to problems.
I wrote recently (I’ll find it…give me a minute…no..too lazy and I can’t remember when I wrote it anyway) about The Procedure where the Good Doctor R, my female (YAY!) gynecologist did a thing called cryoablation on my lady parts and fixed um up good. No more cramps (well not much, just dainty little 17 yr old virgin cramps) and a mere 3 days of 17 yr old virgin bleeding.
I am reminded of the t-shirt I saw, and wanted, that said “never trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn’t die”
anyway…yeah…all fixed up except for the snarling PMS. The cryoablation doesn’t do squat for hormone issues, and that’s what that is. I mean, I’ve always had the PMS. Before I was diagnosed with the bipolar disorder and got on lovely, lovely medication, the PMS took the form of a couple of days of genuine crazies. Now it’s just a nearly uncontrollable urge to runover people in the Walmart parking lot, and who hasn’t felt that occasionally? With cheetoes.
Or, if I don’t feel rage and aggression, I get paranoid and worrisome. I worry that my kids have all reverted back to the habits of their late adolescence and are dooming themselves to lives misspent. I will demand proof that they are behaving properly…as I define it. And, bless their hearts, they give it to me.
The good news is, here 3 months later, the cryoablation has worked. No more having to stick close to home 5 days a month for fear of embarassing myself. No more laying on the couch with a heating pad, cuddling a large bottle of Percocet. And I’m drinking a lot less too.
I still fret over the kids, snarl at bad drivers, and get wickedly sarcastic with anyone stupid enough to speak to me, for a couple of days a month, but I keep track on the calendar so I know when to warn off people I don’t want to hurt…as best I can. 46 year old bodies can be a bit irregular, but at least I can know *why* I woke up wanting cheetoes for breakfast.