When I first moved to Typepad Lane and rolled out my welcome mat I was a young bright eyed infertile hoping to meet some other ladies in the same saddle er, stirrup.
Then I finally became pregnant with a viable pregnancy. I was going to have a baby (yes I was borderline smug and bitchy) I had won, I had kicked my stubborn, un-agreeable, downright mean reproductive (or unproductive) bits into submission and while they did not go quietly they did their job. I had a real live healthy baby and I was almost smitten with my lady garden. For the first time in 11 years we were on the same page. I figured we would go our separate ways, well as separate as you can when you are all wrapped up in the same annoying, pretty package.
I was so wrong.
It started about thirty days after the c-section, I had my first period. 30 days.On.The.Dot. Even though I was breastfeeding AROUND THE FREAKING CLOCK. I thought it was a fluke, it couldn't be real, I had more carefree time coming my way after all I was breastfeeding (!) (I could write a book on that one) then thirty days later I had it again and again. It was weird and yet strangely familiar, unlike dealing with the squalling infant that left the hospital with me I knew how to deal with Red.
Red was different at first I thought maybe she was just working out the kinks after her long absence, stretching her legs and reacquainting me with the routine. The second and third months were also different, longer, odd, and more painful. I started to think maybe this was going to be the new normal and that is when month four hit me harder than a Mack truck without brakes.
The pain alone was enough to leave me laying on the bathroom floor head buried in a towel wondering if I had any pain killers left from the c-section, I had to change my clothes, sheets, SHOES but after NINE days it was gone leaving only it's memory and a cotton bill that rivals the national deficit.
When Red came to visit for month five she brought her friend Spot along. Spotting in the middle of the month has always meant my cervix is on fire, in need of attention. I don't mess with the spotting, weird bleeding when I am supposed to be bleeding is one thing, random "Oh jeez I guess white was a bad idea even though I should be golden for at least another 12-15 days" bleeding is reason to pick up the phone and make an appointment for the stirrups.
To say I was shocked when Doc (I can't remember his nickname at the moment) told me my cervix looked lovely (What the...) is synonymous with GM having a few extra cars sitting around. So I scheduled a sonohysterogram (SHG) for the following week. Dr. Google had already informed me that nothing was wrong; I was insane or possibly pregnant. For the record I am cool with insanity as pregnant without third party help isn't going to happen. So I showed up for my SHG and after taking a pregnancy (snicker with me won't you?) test we got down to brass tacks. All in all the SHG took a bit longer than the HSG but with less pressure...more leaking, less sticky. It only took about four seconds for me to know this was not going to go my way.
Hanging off of every available surface were these stalactite things, knobby and long and ugly. My lining was measuring 18 instead of 7-9. Double? How did this happen? The last time I saw my Ute this close without a baby inside, it was so pretty and calm, the one part of my reproductive posse to always behave, the shiny Breck girl among us. Now I felt betrayed and surprised and sad. Oh so very sad, one more thing to add to my gynecological resume.
Altogether not a big deal, ya know if they don't end up being cancerous because that is one of the few things not on my resume yet. To be clear I have no reason to believe that the polyps are or will be cancerous. I am just PISSED that my body is failing me AGAIN. Doc (can't remember his nickname) told me to go home a talk to Duke and decide if I want more children because a hysterectomy may be the best route.
Hold the fucking phone. I am twenty-nine, a hysterectomy?!?!? Do I want another child? I don't even know what I want to be when I grow all the way up or what I want for breakfast or if I even want breakfast, maybe I will just have coffee.
I did the only thing possible I left the office and cried. Hard. Then I called Doc (super amazing and can't remember his nickname either, delivered S.) for a second opinion. After he talked me off the ledge we decided that the best course would be Surgical Hysteroscopy and D&C.
Joy.
As long as everything goes well I get to keep my body parts, and I get a guaranteed nap. Surgery is set for the 24Th, AM style.





