Giddyup!

It's tradition that I blog about my annual visit to the doctor to get checked under the hood, as MathMan likes to say.  I do this to show solidarity with my fellow females who also should be going for this slightly messy, slightly embarrassing and very important annual check up.  I also like to remind the males here that the whole turn your head and cough thing?  Cakewalk.

And we all have rectums so there's nothing to argue about there.

I'm a bit chagrined to tell you that I'm two months late with this annual visit and I still have it to look forward to on Monday.  Until then, I will just have to revel in the sweet anticipation of getting felt up, mashed, starved, finger-banged and sucked of my blood. That sounds like a fetish menu, doesn't it?

Here's some good news along the lines of credit where credit is due - I am now IUD free.  Once the insurance was sorted, the doc's office made an appointment right away et voila!  Today's visit wasn't with cute-boy doctor J with whom I normally visit.  This procedure was handled by the more seasoned Dr. Dubya.  Yeah.  I am convinced that there is not a single liberal doctor in this town so I'm stuck.  This is the practice where I once got into it with the front desk staff because she refused my request to turn down the volume or turn off the TV blaring Fox News.  I was the only patient in the waiting room at the time.

I'm certain that the choice of channels isn't so much to entertain or inform that patients.  It's a political statement.  But what's a chick to do?  Drive an hour plus to Atlanta to show her vagina to strangers?  Not unless I'm getting free drinks and big tips, my friends.

Even so, I try to be pleasant.  Our conversations go something like this:

Him staring into the abyss:  "So I see your uterus has dropped a little more."
Me:  "Really?  Wonderful.  I still can't afford the copay for surgery to have things removed and rejuvenated."
Him:  "Well, just try not to sneeze or cough too much.  Or laugh.  I guess I won't tell you anymore Obama jokes."
Me:  "Well there's the silver lining.  Tell me, though, if something does happen, will it look like a bowling ball falling out of me or what?"
Him:  "More like a tennis ball.  Smaller than that even."
Me:  "Fine.  I assume you'd like me to just tuck it back in and call for an appointment."
Him:   "Only after you've washed your hands."
Me:  "Well, of course, I'm not going to go stuffing my uterus back into my vagina with a pair of dirty paws."
Him:  "I meant you can wait until after you've washed your hands to call for an appointment."
Me:  "Why don't you go back to the Obama jokes."
Him:   "By the way, I like what you've done with the landscaping."
Me:  "Oh, I thought you'd like that."
Him:  "Yes, the landing strip is so 1998."
Me:  "Agreed.  And a nuisance to maintain."
Him:  "So how did you get it to look like that?"
Me:  "The Fox News logo?  There's a template for it on their website."
Him:  "You're kidding!"
Me:  "Yes, I'm kidding."

TMI Thursday: Uterus in Revolt

Click the picture for more TMI.

TMI = Too Much Information. As the photo above says "you've been warned."

Contrary to my most ardent desires, I am not getting any younger. Whether I wish to or not, I will eventually experience "the change." Menopause, I know, will have its rewards, but I'm just not looking forward to it any more than I looked forward to starting my period when I was a kid.

"I'd just rather not," I remember telling one of my friends. She was rather aghast because her head had been filled with all sorts of "becoming a woman" nonsense. Even back then, I knew the whole reproductive thing was just a ruse for making sex more complicated for women.

Over the summer, I had one of my parts replaced. It was time for my IUD to get some new retreads. For those of you unfamiliar with walking around with one of these microscopic devices clinging for dear life into the lining of your uterus, when it's changed out, there's usually some mild cramping and spotting. After your uterus settles back into its status as an inhospitable environment for fertilized eggs, you might get lucky and stop having periods altogether. This is what I've been used to for the last five years or so. No wonder it's party, party, party all the time around here....

Where was I? Oh, right, so this last time, I kept having these little mini-periods. It was weird. All the sudden, right out of the blue, I'd be popping a squat, give a quick wipe using the prescribed front to back method, and bam! there would be a bit of uterine lining where it should not be.

This did not please me altogether that much.

I wondered if it had to do with the fact that Chloe kept coming home from school, dragging her dirty laundry and hormones with her. Was she causing havoc with my system? Then I wondered if, perhaps, I'd simply forgotten that it took me a good six months to stop having uterine weirdness the first time I got an IUD. Perhaps. Then I remembered that when some of my friends started the perimenopause stage, their periods went haywire.

Anything is possible, I suppose. Be that as it may, it's a drag to have random periods, but what I really dread are the hot flashes. I mean, when I'm sitting here in my house, at my desk trying to pull myself into myself because it's so cold, the idea of some hot flashes has definite appeal. But I know it's folly to make light.

The truth is, I like being a girl/woman best when the whole period part of being female is relegated to a distant memory like it's been for the last five years. Too bad there isn't something I can jam into my uterine lining that would help quell those hormonal changes until I've passed through to the other side when I can have all the sex I want without having to worry about anything but hurt feelings, a bit of soreness because I've never done that before and the occasional STD.

And thus concludes this episode of TMI Thursday: Uterus in Revolt.