Day 19 Post-News - 02/27/2021

Guess who has their period again. I'll give you 3 guesses, and the first two don't count.

Spoiler: it's me. I have my period. For the second time in a 30-day span. And not just the bleeding, but also the horrid cramps, food cravings, period poops, mood instability, and breakouts. 

I called the doctor's office yesterday to try to get some information about the status of the IUD. I was told that once the insurance company approves it, it goes to the pharmacy, who will call me to confirm that I want it (they'll make 3 attempts before cancelling the order), then they'll release it to the doctor's office. I told the woman I was speaking to that I was concerned. I went to the doctor on the 8th. Yesterday was the 26th. I hadn't heard anything (and still haven't as of posting), and the IUD that's currently sitting in my uterus expires as of March 11th. I said that I was concerned about the timing because it was about to expire. I was told that "it shouldn't give you any trouble."

That's...that's 100% false. And I'm not just saying that because I'm experiencing symptoms. Because while that's absolutely a factor in my calling bullshit, I also went directly to the Skyla informational page. And the information as given BY THE FUCKING MANUFACTURER states that it is no longer considered effective as of that magical 3 year date. The hormones will have all been used. It may prevent pregnancy by the nature of being a large hunk of plastic inhabiting the majority of the space in the uterus, but it will not have hormones left to release, and it is absolutely not recommended as a primary means of birth control or period regulation at that time.

I'm...frustrated. And angry. And in pain. And impatient. So Monday, I will be calling again and finding out who I have to harass to get this bullshit streamlined. Because this? This is not ok. And frankly, if we get to March 11th and I don't have a shiny, new chunk of plastic in my babybox, I will be calling my parents back, accepting the loan, setting up a surgical date, and saying, "fuck the mental health, I'll deal with it later. This shit is currently worse."

I'm not pleased. But if this is how it goes down, this is how it goes down. I can't continue with this crap.

Day 15 Post-News - 02/23/2021

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii still feel like trash. I've been lightheaded off and on all day. Pressure in my head, behind-the-eyes pain, nauseated, etc. Some of it is weather related, for sure (it's been windy af and super unpleasant all day), but so much of it has been going on for days that I'm sure some of it is hormonal, too. I've taken sudafed and tylenol and whatnot, but to no avail. 

I also haven't heard back from the gynecologist's office about the IUD replacement, so I'm getting cranky on top of it. I may end up calling tomorrow, but I also don't want to be a nag/pest/annoyance, especially since I fucking like these people. 

Ok, "getting cranky" is an understatement. I was super cranky throughout work. There was a person who was having difficulty grasping a concept because they had a brainfart regarding the year (thought it was still 2020). I almost completely lost my shit at this person because we went back and forth for 6 emails before they figured out the issue. 

I'm also pretty scattered (mentally). I tried to stream tonight and couldn't fucking read to save my life. 

I think I need to have money soon and just get this shit removed and deal with the mental fallout later. 

I don't know where I'm going with this. I'm out.    

Day 11 Post-News - 02/19/2021

 *Insert standard warnings and disclaimers here.*

I've been doing ok for the past week. Finally got some decent sleep, not stressing out too badly, thinking about the surgery that I can have pretty much whenever I call the doctor (and am prepared to cough up $450+) doesn't send me into a tailspin of existential dread and identity issues. Don't get me wrong; I'm still kinda fucked up, but it's far less overwhelming. I'm still waiting for the new IUD to come in, and last night, some of the symptoms I've been dealing with hit. Like a freight train. 

Reference: I'm in the last month of efficacy for my current IUD. Much like the last time I hit this point, I've been experiencing many of the symptoms I experience during PMS/periods. On a good day, they'll be barely noticeable. On a bad day, they'll be debilitating. Symptoms range from minor cramps/headaches/bloating/breakouts to intense cramps, near-migraine-level headaches, fatigue, nausea, vomiting, assorted gastrointestinal distress, intense mood swings, general irritability, fucking bizarre-ass food cravings, etc.

Some time between when I put on a shirt yesterday at 9am and when I removed my shirt at 11pm, my ENTIRE back broke out worse than that kid everyone used to call "Pizza Face" in middle school. We're not just talking your standard, annoying acne. Noooooo, this is a combination of blackheads, cystic acne, regular whiteheads, and incredibly painful deep-seated acne that's so far from the surface a fucking oil rig couldn't pull it up. Most of it's just annoying and uncomfortable. Some of it is actually painful. After eating dinner (and a doublescoop from Baskin Robbins, because ~cravings~, I got both incredibly bloated and incredibly nauseated. And I hadn't taken my nighttime meds yet. Great! (I took them anyway, but it fucking sucked.) I had difficulty sleeping because I couldn't find a comfortable position. At the time of writing (7:30pm), I'm only finally coming out of the nausea. I couldn't really eat all day. I had a coffee for breakfast, but couldn't stomach anything else. (I was able to get my meds down, at least.) Around 1pm, I was both extremely nauseated and dealing with a major case of tummy grumble, so I managed to choke down a few crackers and a cup of chicken broth. I've spent the rest of the day nursing the sleeve of crackers and a bottle of flavored seltzer. Don't come for me, it's basically just carbonated water. I've had a behind-the-eyes headache all day. Neither painkillers nor decongestants have helped. I tried to take a 10 minute nap, but I couldn't. I at least kept my eyes closed, so that felt a little better. 

I am...still in a weird headspace regarding the hysterectomy, as stated before. When I think about it, I don't immediately go into full on Anxiety Mode, which is a great step. I still get really emotional about it, though, and I think what I really need to do is have a good, hard cry about all of the bullshit I've had to deal with to get to this point. The hard part there is that I'm not very good at crying; it's always been my MO to staunchly avoid crying, no matter what. The few times that I have cried (particularly in front of other people) have been at the points of major crisis. Somehow, despite this challenging the image I've developed of myself, I can't bring myself to actually cry about it. I've gotten misty, sure, but not that really cathartic, hard, ugly cry that I think would make me feel a lot better. Honestly, that's probably mostly because I'm still angry. I'm still angry that it's taken 14 years and no fewer than 7 different doctors to get someone to ask a fucking question of an insurance company. 14 years and 7+ doctors to take my quality of life seriously. Admittedly, my NY gyno came quite reasonably close to an acceptable answer, and certainly gave the closest thing to a shit about my symptoms. I don't harbor him any ill will. And to be fair, the last time I asked him to yeet my uterus was 6 years ago. I was under 30 then, not in a committed relationship of any kind, and I hadn't had an irregular pap yet. It's well within the realm of possibility that if he had asked the insurance company, they would have denied coverage. 6 years ago was 2015. It's kind of gross to think about, but women have had some wins in regards to bodily autonomy since then. (Right? Right?) But before him, and even one gyno between him and Dr. Adler, every doctor that I visited gave me some line of shit as to why they wouldn't do anything. (Side note: the doctor between NY and Adler told me that the only reason she would sign off on an IUD was because of my PMDD symptoms; she doesn't believe in using contraceptives because of her religion. Which is precisely why I found Adler instead. Because yes, you're entitled to your beliefs, but if they have a strong possibility of interfering with my appropriate, timely, and legal medical care, you can fuck right off.) 4 separate doctors refused to address my issues beyond throwing different oral birth control at me and hoping something stuck. 

Actually, what I'd really like to do is to go somewhere remote, throw rocks and sticks and other such shit, and scream/yell/curse into the ether until I feel like my anger can be sent out to the appropriate persons. Namely, the doctors and nurses who ignored me, minimized my symptoms, accused me of being dramatic, accused me of being irrational and impulsive, and told me that all they could do was pump me full of synthetic hormones and hope my body would accept them for long enough that I'd stop bitching at them every few months. Ok, nobody actually said that, but it was strongly implied. By the same festering pustule of a human that didn't like me saying, "that sounds like a him problem" to her assertions that I might find a husband who wanted kids. 

Is it weird that calling out that particular woman, even without using her name, makes me feel a little better? Because it kind of did. Not, y'know, a lot, but a little.

Anyway, that's where I'm at. I feel like crap on toast, and I really want the fucking IUD update to come in so I can at least get the hormones in check while I get my head on straight and save up a couple hundred bucks.

Oh, related-ish: Ages ago, I was diagnosed with bilateral polycystic breasts. Uncommon, but not terribly problematic. Mostly just annoying. I can tell when a cyst is about to pop up because the skin above it gets itchy. Then the cyst pops up (it's pretty deep, and doesn't hurt unless it gets pressed against pretty significantly), lasts about 10-14 days, fades away, and then within 5 days, one pops up on the other boob. During my therapy session the other week, my therapist asked if it was related to the uterus issues, which it isn't. Then she asked where the cysts are typically located. Along the underwire line. Typically happens between 2 and 4 times in a year. And then I realized.............I think it's only happened once since lockdown happened. And I went from wearing a bra at least 5 days a week to wearing a bra...twice a month? (Let's be real, unless I'm leaving the house, I'm not putting on a bra. And if I can, I'm only putting on a bralette, because fuck constricting bullshit.) So it looks like maybe my boobie cysts are caused, or at least heavily exacerbated by, typical bra use. 

Day 3 Post-News - 02/11/2021

This post is ABSOLUTELY NOT intended for anyone who is under 18. Or my family. (Mom, Dad, other relatives, if you're reading, please stop. Please.) There WILL be discussion of mental health, physical health, and sex. Punches will not be pulled. Obscenities will likely not be in short supply. As always, nothing here should be considered medical advice. Talk to your doctor if you have questions.

Life is weird.

I still haven't had a proper night's sleep since I got the news. I guess I didn't realize just how much of an impact this was going to have on my headspace. I mean, I definitely didn't think I'd come to the conclusion that I had a ton of associated anger and then *POOF* be magically fine with it, but fucksake, I didn't think I'd have multiple days in a row of piss-poor sleep.

I also didn't think I'd be having so much sex that my entire fucking body hurts. This is, in fact, partially related to the news, and I can already tell that you have the wrong idea, so buckle up while I explain. One of the fun consequences of Bipolar Type II (which I have) is periods of mania. For some people, that's excessive energy, like having 4 triple espressos and a candy bar. For some, it's a very short fuse and explosive temper. (I get that one sometimes.) For some, it's impulsive or even reckless behavior, which can range from the more minor things, like dying or cutting hair, to seriously dangerous things like binge drinking, intentionally driving way too fast, binge drinking, etc. (I get the lower end of that one pretty regularly when I'm manic.) And for some people, it's an intense sex drive, which may or may not lead to bad choices and/or physical endangerment. Now, to say that I have a strong sex drive to begin with is a pretty safe statement. I'm open about it, it's led to more than one regrettable addition to my "body count" (as the kids these days call it...jeezus that's dark), and it's led to a handful of trips to the doctor for medication to treat the unfortunate side effects that come from having way too much sex. (UTIs, yeast infections, and BV are all on that list, because when you fuck enough, your vagina will eventually do whatever the fuck it can to get you to stop before you cause permanent damage.) So I'm not having an excessive amount of sex because I will eventually be having a surgery that's going to put the downtown out of commission for 6-8 weeks, but because I'm experiencing a touch of mania.

Related: I am on (what seems to be) a very effective medication to control my bipolar symptoms. I'm not concerned in any way that this is going to become a full-on manic episode. Neurotypical people have days and even weeks where their behavior might be considered slightly manic. Everybody handles stress in a different way. Some people get angry and need to hit something. Some people get hyperfocused and clean everything. Some people experience a major negative stressor and begin to laugh, because what the fuck else can you do? Apparently, when I experience stressors, I decide that I need orgasms, and lots of them. Fortunately, my husband is currently also dealing with a heightened sex drive.

Aw hell, I'm screwing my way to clarity and acceptance. It's college all over again, only with significantly fewer people, no bad beer, and a distinct lack of sawdust. (If you know, you know.) And I've definitely been enjoying the hell out of it. The past couple of days have seen more orgasms than the past couple of weeks combined, and we've tried more things. Restraints, orgasm denial, domination (complete with punishment that I enjoy far more than I should), continued stimulation during and after orgasm, and even straight-up pornographic video games. It's been an intense couple of days, and I had to tell my husband that no matter what I say tonight, I should *not* have sex. My shoulders, back, and legs are so sore from all the absurdly strong orgasms I've been having that I'm surprised I can function. Oh, and I managed to sprain my frickin sternum the other week, so my goddamn chest hurts, which is, y'know, deeply unsettling in the midst of a pandemic that damages the lungs and an extremely stressful series of events. 

I'm sure some people are thinking that all this sex is probably an unhealthy way to come to terms with my feelings and/or let go of the anger. And those people may well be right. But to that, I counter: orgasm creates a flood of endorphins that improve mood and (theoretically) help with sleep. And honestly, at least in my conscious mind, it seems to be helping with the panicked feeling that I'm losing a part of my identity by winning this fight. Maybe I'll turn that anger toward helping other people with uteruses gain control of their reproductive rights. (Who am I kidding? I'll definitely do that.) Maybe I'll use it to break through the ridiculous taboos that people have around discussing sex. (Sex is a normal bodily function that is enjoyable for a reason. Quit shaming people for wanting to have it. Also, quit shaming people for not wanting to have it. And while you're at it, quit kink-shaming. Nobody gives you shit for liking missionary, so stop giving people shit for liking cock cages and being bound and flogged while wearing a unicorn mask and a sparkly purple buttplug. If you're not into something, you don't have to do it!)

I feel like I've derailed here. The point is, it's day 3 after finding out that I can have my damned partial hysterectomy, and I'm dealing with this change by having a metric fuckload of orgasms. How's your day going? Anyone have any coping mechanisms that feel good but won't damage my vag? Or hell, even just suggestions for interesting things to try in bed? Might as well go for it while I'm here, right?

Day 1 Post-News - 02/09/2021

If you have not already done so, please read the post "The Story". It will provide much-needed context. Also, the same warnings apply and will continue to do so for as long as this blog runs.

I slept like shit last night. While there was nothing particular in the forefront of my mind, I'm sure that I was subconsciously dealing with the feelings. So I did the only logical thing. I called in sick and called my therapist. I knew I could have waited until next week for a therapy session, but if I didn't have to, I didn't intend to. Luckily, my therapist had an opening, and we talked about what's going on in my head.

First and foremost, I'm very happy. There's finally a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. (Yes, it's a vagina joke. Get over it.) I'm also very relieved. Two decades of pain and other extremely unpleasant symptoms can finally be resolved. And yet, there's something gnawing at me. It's not doubt; I haven't changed my mind about my stance on children for a second. It's not fear; I've looked up every possible outcome of this surgery, and even the "bad" possibilities aren't really all that bad. Unpleasant, sure, but still less unpleasant than what I've been dealing with thus far, so...fuck it. So what exactly is my problem?

Well, honestly, it's that for the past 14 years, I've been fighting for control of my body. I've been dealing with anger, frustration, and resentment towards people in gynecology, in insurance, and in this fucking patriarchal society. 14 years of having my symptoms downplayed, written off as normal PMS, or ignored completely. 14 fucking years of people, mostly men, but also women, telling me that I can't make decisions about my own body. This battle that I've been fighting has been such a huge part of my life that it's become pretty much integral to who I am as a person. It's been nearly a decade and a half of this Sisyphean hell, and now, suddenly, very unexpectedly, the fight is over. I've won. And I'm not sure what to do now.

I imagine this is what Inigo Montoya felt after killing the Six Fingered Man.  “You know, it's very strange. I have been in the revenge business so long, now that it's over, I don't know what to do with the rest of my life.” And this is the situation in which I find myself. This thing that has been a part of my life for so long, this anger and hate that has shaped me, is done.

It's going to take me a little while to figure out what this change means for me. There's no question that I will continue to fight for ALL women (and men, and nonbinary persons) to have the same bodily autonomy that I have finally been afforded. But I do have to find a way to let go of all of that anger. That's going to take time. And in the meanwhile, I'll be writing down the process here as I go through it. Partially because my therapist wants me to journal. Partially because I think it might actually help me figure my shit out. And partially because if there's a chance that I can help even one person deal with their shit more effectively than I have, it's something that I absolutely must do.

The Story - 02/08/2021

The below entry is very long. It also includes descriptions of menstrual processes and side effects. If this bothers you, please do not continue reading. This entire blog is intended for adult audiences. It uses obscenities freely and openly discusses topics that are not considered acceptable for polite company. Absolutely nothing within this blog should be considered medical advice. If you have concerns, please see your doctor.

I got my period at age 11. At first it wasn't terrible; I had some pretty nasty cramps and the expected bloating and mood swings, but it wasn't anything unexpected. But as time went on, things got worse. Cramps became unbearable. I've had to take time off of school and work. It's been so severe that it's caused backaches, headaches, nausea, vomiting, and on a few stellar occasions, passing out. Heavy bleeding is an understatement. By the time I was 19, I probably could have qualified to be one of those techs that cleans up crime scenes after grisly murders. I recall one stellar instance in college that I'll recount to you, because I really want you to understand the intensity of the pain.

I had recently dislocated and sprained my knee. I was just off of crutches, and still using Darvocet (an opioid pain reliever that has since been pulled from the market for causing heart problems; like the little brother of Percocet) to manage my knee pain. I was stuck in All Day Tech for The Wizard of Oz when I suddenly felt like I had been simultaneously stabbed and hit in the gut with a steel bar. My eyes watered, I doubled over in pain, and I vaguely recall one of my classmates asking me if I was ok. I was not. Luckily, we were only 10 minutes from lunch. When we were excused for lunch, one of my classmates walked me back to my dorm. I took one of my Darvocet and stuffed the bottle into my bag. An hour later, I was still in unbearable pain. I took a second. I then proceeded to curl up in a ball in the Kansas house and cry for the next 2 hours until the pain dulled enough that I could move. (Fortunately, that particular set piece wasn't needed in that time, nor was I.)

Please note, I was on oral birth control at the time. Not primarily to prevent pregnancy, but to minimize the symptoms of my periods. After this particular horror show, the next time I returned to Long Island, I went back to my doctor and requested a change in medication.

My medication debacle went on for years. I would be on one brand of oral bc for 9-18 months, and it would start to fail. I'd have breakthrough bleeding, worse PMS symptoms, breakouts, etc. My period, which had previously been reliable enough to set a watch by (precisely 2:30am on the 23 of each month, except for months divisible by 4, whereupon it would occur at precisely 2:45am on the 21st...and yes, I'm serious. I remember.) was unpredictable. It didn't always come when taking the placebo pills, and it sometimes came when I was taking active pills. They tried me on LoEstrin, Apri, LoEstrin Lo, Lo Loestrin FE, Yaz, Seasonique, Seasonale, Natazia, and probably a couple others that I can't remember. At one point, I spent an entire month straight bleeding. I was sent for sonograms, ultrasounds, invasive and non-invasive testing. As far as anyone could tell, there was nothing actually wrong with me. I was diagnosed with PMDD somewhere along the way and told that I had such godawful symptoms because I'm "just lucky, I guess" according to one charming gynecologist.

At age 16 I decided I didn't want kids. The decision came from working in community theatre and dealing with the brattiest little fucks in the world. Despite knowing that not all children are beastly creatures, and that I could raise kids to be fairly normal humans, my resolve didn't waver. I found out that the majority of my mood disorders have a genetic component. A variety of unpleasant medical issues run in my family. I came to the conclusion that if I ever wanted kids, I could adopt, but that there was no way I would ever willingly spawn a child. 0/10, would not do. As time has progressed, the idea of pregnancy has become even more unpleasant to me. While I'm happy for those around me who have kids, and I'll love on my friends' and family's people nuggets, the idea of becoming pregnant is, to me, repugnant. I have had paralyzing nightmares about pregnancy. It is genuinely a fear.

6 years ago, I finally found a doctor who was willing to consider something other than oral bc. There weren't a ton of options that would actually do what I needed; tubal ligation is extremely effective at preventing pregnancy, but my body would have to take back over on providing hormones and controlling periods, and after so long on bc intended to help with my symptoms, that would be unpredictable at best. The implant can have unpredictable effects on cycles. And so I was introduced to Skyla. An IUD intended specifically for women who have not been pregnant. And honestly, it has been significantly better than anything else. It lasts for 3 years, so I'm on Skyla #2. The first 2 weeks after insertion SUCKED, but after everything died down and my body figured out what was going on, things were pretty great. My period has decreased in frequency to 2-3 times per year, and typically lasts no more than 3 days, whereas it used to last no less than 6 previously. Cramps still take the wind out of my sails, but they are much shorter lived, and only occasionally make me puke. Mood swings and breakouts have all but stopped. Except for the last month before I can get it replaced. Which is where I am now. In that last month for the second time. So, just like 3 years ago, I feel like shit. I have for a bit over a week. It's tiring.

I was prepared to go back to NY to get my IUD swapped out. But COVID has made that logistically impossible. So I went on the hunt for a gynecologist in NoVA. And I found one. I went in with the expectation of having a consultation regarding simply replacing Skyla, but I also wanted to discuss what other options were available. It's been 6 years since I discussed the possibilities, so who knows what new contraptions men have developed to torture treat women. And let me tell you, this doctor was cool. He told me about a few other options, and discussed why he wouldn't recommend some. And then, almost jokingly, he said, "Other than that, the only other option would be a hysterectomy." And I nearly jumped off the table.

I have been BEGGING doctors to remove my uterus since that day in college, weeping in the Kansas house, hopped up on opioid pain relievers and barely able to breathe with the pain. I've been given every excuse in the book: you're too young, you'll change your mind, what if you get married and your husband wants kids (which was asked by a WOMAN, to which I replied, "sounds like a him problem", and she was not amused), and the ever popular, insurance won't cover it.

So hearing that, I said, "Actually, if that's on the table, I would like that option. I've been asking for it for like, 12 years." (It's 14. I'm bad at math on the fly.)

And this man, this wonderful, amazing man, agreed to ask my insurance company. A request was sent, with the backup option of another IUD.

Today I got the call. My insurance company will cover 85% of it. I'd be on the hook for around $450. I cried. My parents offered to cover the cost, because I said I'd have to wait a few months until my family was in a more secure financial situation. I cried more. And then I panicked.

You see, I've spent the last 14 years, nearly half of my life, being told that I don't have that kind of control over my body. This part, this utterly useless part, that serves no function other than to cause me pain, was something I would have to live with because it wasn't diseased. The negative impact on my mental health didn't matter, nor did the missed work (or school, or other activities). And suddenly, after nearly 34 years of being told what I can and cannot do with my own body, I have control. A man with 35+ years in the OB/GYN field *listened* to my concerns, and actually heard them. And then asked a simple question of an insurance company. "Will you cover this minimally invasive surgery?" And the answer was "Yes".

I am still waiting a few months. I am incredibly grateful to my parents for their offer, but this is something I need to do myself. And frankly, I never thought I would get that "Yes". I've spent so long expecting to be told no that I never actually considered the implications of receiving a yes. And if I'm going to do it now, I'd have to do it by the end of the month for it to be efficient with the whole IUD situation. 3 weeks to deal with 14 years worth of emotion is not enough time. I will be getting the surgery within the next 12 months. I have waited a long, long time. But I need to make sure that my headspace is good before I do. I know with absolute certainty that this is what I want, but all that time spent being frustrated and angry is not something I can safely let go of in 3 weeks.

If you pray, you may want to say a prayer for my therapist. She's gonna need all the help she can get when we unpack this all next week.