lobsterchick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- How Come No One Is Looking For A Uterus Donor? "After you stop taking the progesterone," he said, "you'll get your period 7 to 10 days later. Just a warning: it'll be heavy." AHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHA
I love you, Dr. Boveri (bo-VER-y, not BO-vary like O-vary, though still, odd), but you are a man, and therefore have no clue. I spent twenty minutes in Walgreens' parking lot last night while my mom was inside, searching for Maximum Strength Midol, coming out with Pamprin (what the fuck?! Pamprin?! I tried to be cool, but I think the steam coming out of my ears gave me away), then heading sheepishly back in to exchange it, on the phone with DS screaming things like, "OH, I'LL DONATE AN ORGAN TO YOU! I'LL DONATE A WHOLE FUCKING SYSTEM! YOU NEED A PAIR OF OVARIES AND A UTERUS FOR ONE MONTH! JUST ONE! YOU WILL CRY LIKE THE LITTLE GIRL YOU ARE! YOU COULDN'T HANDLE THIS!" "Hey!" he answered. "I've had kidney stones. They say that's the worst pain after childbirth!" "YOU DON'T KNOW! YOU CAN'T KNOW! YOU HAVE NEVER HAD A SOLID WALL OF CRAMPS FROM YOUR ARMPITS TO YOUR KNEES! YOU DON'T KNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!" Then I got home and took the Midol. Which sort of worked. Like, the cramps went from 15 on a scale of 1 to 10 down to like, a 9, so yeah, there was some improvement. Then. I woke up at five o'-fucking-clock this morning, absolutely miserable. After taking some more little blue sugar pills (AKA, Midol), I alternated staring at the ceiling and reading Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. It's not mentally taxing, and I was trying to distract myself. Finally, around six, I decided that I was brave enough to try showering as a cramp remedy. Immediately upon hearing the water come on, my mom came rapping at the door, all worried. "What on earth are you doing up so early?" One thing: The woman knows me. "I couldn't sleep. I'm having cramps again." "Want me to see if we have any whiskey?" "Yeah." Even though I knew we didn't. She came back in a few seconds later with a shot glass. That's right folks, I was behind the shower curtain with just my bare arm sticking out, grabbing for the shot my mom was handing me. Just another day. "It's Southern Comfort." I almost had to laugh. I know she thought it was whiskey because it's brown. I tossed it back and handed her the empty glass, then proceeded to wash my hair. Back in bed, the shot, the shower, the pills, the reading did nothing. Not one sweet-Jesus-humping thing. This is the point where my mom made the mistake of standing in the doorway and saying "How are they?" Of course, I burst into tears. She came in and rubbed my back, and it felt good, but also like I was a 90-year-old woman with arthritis having a massage therapist coming into the home every Wednesday. A little embarrassing. I handed my mom the hot water bottle and asked her to fill it with the hottest water she could get, which she did. It turns out, a little too hot, but still. Better too hot than lukewarm. The SoCo made me sleepy, but the cramps refused to relent. I asked for the phone and called my office, knowing I couldn't miss a whole day of work. I left a message for my boss telling her that yes, I would be in, it was just a matter of when. Finally I fell asleep, waking around 9. Miracle of miracles, the cramps were gone. Or so I thought. On the drive into work, they came back in full force. At my desk, they were joined by their sister, Unholy Vaginal Bleeding. With the crazy bleeding, normally I would pop some Advil and things would calm down. But I figured this time through that it was to be expected (as Dr. Boveri had warned me), and that for my health I out to just wait it out. In the bathroom. WHERE I STAYED ALMOST THE ENTIRE DAY BECAUSE I DID NOT HAVE THE FORESIGHT TO BRING AND ENTIRE DRUGSTORE OF MAXIPADS WITH ME TO WORK. Here are the two states in which I could be found at any point in time today: Either huddled over at my desk, staring at nothing, hugging my stomach, or on the toilet. If you were lucky and observant, you may have caught me making a mad dash TO the bathroom to resume Position B. I hurt so bad all I wanted to do was go home, but the fact that I'm poor and have a total of 2 accumulated sick hours kept me anchored to my desk. I came very close to crying several times, but I knew my boss would send me home, and I was gonna be damned if I let that happen. So I saved it up for when I got home. Where I said to my mom and my sister, "I'm gonna go lie down," sniff, "can you guys...?" SOB, "go to Walgreen's for meeeeeeeeeeee?" Everyone just stared like I was crazy, which I guess I am. My brother in law stayed back with Evie, and when I came out to make myself some soup he watched me warily, hoping, I know, that I didn't turn on the waterworks again. So, yeah. The period is heavy. If by "heavy" you mean "psychotic-break-causing." Yup, heavy. 6:09 PM - 25 May 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||