Praising the sisterhood, periods and apathyIn the week we found out that Madrid dog owners who refuse to pick up their dog poo will have to clean streets, I got the painters in. Physically and metaphorically. Our lovely neighbour is doing a fab job for us, and the kitchen is coming to life as I write. I on the other hand feel anything but lively sat here. At least the sun is shining. And at least I found my purse (after cancelling my cards, of course).
So yes, as I was saying the painters are in. I've got my period. And as I type that sentence I'm faced with the actuality that it is my last period ever. Period. The final monthly cycle I will ever experience - after over thirty years of bleeding every single month (give or take a pregnancy here or there of course). That is a bizarre feeling.
My uterus, more latterly known as the Womb Of Doom is soon to be taken away. The ovaries shall follow suit. They bloody well better leave my Venus well alone. Little tummy tuck if you please, and I'm not against a designer vagina - one can hope right? (By the way, if you've also had babies then I'm confident the latter needs no explanation).
A full hysterectomy: ectomy of course meaning removal, hyster of course meaning hysterical. What I will become once they start me on HRT.
To be honest, I'm just glad we worked out what the bloating stomach is. It's been going on for years, but 2016, is finally the year for clarity. CT scans, an MRI, two endoscopes, Immunologist, Dietician, Gastroenterologist, and finally (and potentially my least fave of the lot only because of the location of the part involved) Gynaecologist. Oh to be a woman.
A woman that has delivered two beautiful babies normally, (if one can call that normal), and who will in a few weeks deliver a football fibroid through the sun roof. I'm not bitter. I'm ready to lose it. Let's face it, I'm the lucky one. Turns out I've got two miracle daughters. Explains the miscarriages. Explains a lot. Love that.
Love also the community around me. I've said it before and I'll say it again, where I live is wonderful. Friends here are throwing me a period party. Tampons will be hung and a sanitary towel throne shall be sat upon. Who else has mates that do that? Women. That's who. What's not to celebrate? Girlfriends. Friends finding the humour and the positive. Some gave flowers, others put their arms around me... everyone is thoughtful and kind. Although there was one remark which sent me spinning somewhat...
Woman: Glancing at my stomach then leaning in to be heard...
I'm going to hazard a guess here, that that was a bit of a faux pas.I'll let you decide what you think I ought to have replied. But Fuck Off was fairly high up on the list. It's twins was a close second. To be honest, I have joked all the way through about looking pregnant, (the lenient take on it is that I often do look well and truly up the duff), however this one blatant and blasé approach shook me up. What if I had been trying for years... what if I was having a hysterectomy and had never conceived? What if I was pregnant and devastated about it? For all manner of reasons, there are moments when you may think things, but you may not say them. STOP PRESS. Did that sink in for you? Of course it will never sink in for some. Five people yesterday asked me if I was pregnant. I ought to be flattered. Yes, I'll take it as a compliment. Just a bit bored of it, hence this blog post.
Women. Periods. Now I'm going slightly off piste with this but here's a thought... what if men had them? If men bled monthly would it be conceived (and I use that word carefully) as a sign of virility and strength instead of something to have to hide or feel shameful about? Who knows. I'm not sure all would cope with the curse as well. And birth? No, we girls are the lucky ones that get to experience that magic. You think I'm being sarcastic now don't you? And if I had stopped at one, I would be, but my second delivery was magical. I wouldn't go as far as to say it was orgasmic - some women actually own up to that. No, mine was just straight forward: fast yet controlled. Safe. I think what I'm trying to say here is that being a woman has many positives. A period party... I rest my case. The sisterhood is strong!
Look, I appear to now be waffling, probably as the pain killers are waring thin and period pain is pushing to pulsate once again. One thing left to say really about that... bring it on. It is after all the last time I will have to endure it. ;-) And by the way, for the record, if you see me and wonder... no I'm not.
All hugs welcome!