A stranger got to third base with me today. . .and I'm not talking about baseball. That's right, I had a visit with my doctor today. It was finally time for me to complain in person that I wish my vagina would stop weeping tears of blood.
My doctor and his nurse were shocked - SHOCKED - that I'm still - STILL - having bleeding issues. He wanted to verify that the Mirena IUD was still in place so I slipped off my panties and hopped up on the table. I felt super-proud that I remembered to wear panties because I still feel the sting of embarrassment from the visit where he discovered the hard way that I wasn't wearing any. It took like two seconds to verify that all was as it should be and I responded that I was glad because I would not even consider having it reinserted if it weren't still in place.
This prompted me to tell him that having the IUD inserted was one of the most painful things I've ever had happen. It was less painful than my miscarriage, but significantly more painful than my c-sections. . .and my first c-section left me feeling like I was hit by a fucking bus. He seemed surprised that I had that level of pain and that I nearly fainted from it, responding that he's never heard one of his patients report that kind of experience after one of his insertions. Well, doc, my cervix is a steel door that will not tolerate your tenaculum-assisted shenanigans without plenty of pain and suffering on my part.
I'm not thrilled with my IUD, heck, I don't even kinda like it at this point. However, I will be keeping it for at least a couple more months. Why? Well, mainly because this is still the least invasive option to manage my abnormally heavy period and I'm not inclined to seek out any surgical options unless absolutely necessary. Burning my uterine lining, removing my uterus. . .both options sound pretty awful and I'd like to avoid both if at all possible. As annoying as my never-ending period is, it is still easier to handle than the menstrual flooding & gushing that prompted me to seek medical help in the first place and I haven't had those issues since having the IUD inserted so I'm already doing better than I was a couple of months ago.
I know what you're thinking. . .it's not a visit to the doctor unless I do something goofy and this visit didn't disappoint. While talking to me about the fact that I'm still experiencing vaginal bleeding, he asked how often I'm dealing with it.
"Dealing with what," I asked.
"Dealing with your protection."
I stared at him blankly and finally asked, "What protection?"
He blinked and we both stared at each other for a long moment. I was just about to respond that I'm barebacking it these days aaaand it finally dawned on me that he wasn't asking me about rubbers. "Oh, that! Uh, well, it depends on my flow."
I'm pretty sure that I saw his mental eyeroll.
He asked me to let him know how things are in another month or two. If I'm still bleeding all the time, we'll discuss surgical options. If I'm not still bleeding all the time, well, I will have stopped bleeding! One way or another, there is an end in sight to my vaginal trail of tears over my IUD.
Showing posts with label doctor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label doctor. Show all posts
Friday, March 29, 2013
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Tenaculum - Useful Instrument or Torture Device?
It has been just shy of one year since I touched my blog. Plenty of interesting, exciting, heartwarming, and heartbreaking things have happened in that year. I mentally began outlining at least two dozen blog posts in this last year, but nothing could prompt me to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) until now.
What is so important to write down for the readership - all that might be left after a one-year absence?! Is it the Benghazi assassinations, the exploitation of Sandy Hook to push a political agenda, or the hot mess and herp-a-derp that was my Facebook feed during the entire election season? Is it the milestones reached by my sweet baby and my preschooler? Is it a helpful post detailing normal behavior of a breastfed newborn, infant, and toddler? Is it a PSA about how to properly adjust side-mirrors on a vehicle? What could possibly awake my writing spirit from such a deep slumber? My vagina, of course!
Are you new here? If so, consider this a fair warning: I get very graphic and descriptive and this is a post about menstruation and female genitalia. That sounds really nice, but it's too polite and some of you might not understand. . .I'm going to talk about how it feels to have a faucet of blood running from between your legs and what I'm trying in order to not be held hostage by my bleeding snatch for two days out of every twenty.
Anyone left? Let's proceed!
Though I am still breastfeeding my 13-month old, my period resumed in mid-September. I could tell it was coming because I had some weird cramping and backaches for a couple of weeks leading up to it. It was, predictably, quite heavy and I chalked it up to my uterus making up for lost time.
By the new year, I had experienced seven periods. I can handle heavy and, since having 20- to 22-day cycles (or shorter!) for so long, I can also handle frequency. It's the volume that I can't handle.
How heavy is heavy? So heavy that I have to use pads I'd purchased to be used immediately postpartum, but never needed since the lochia wasn't nearly that bad. So heavy that I couldn't get my menstrual cup (it was the Diva, though I bought a Keeper to try and couldn't bring myself to deal with it) to actually form a seal. So heavy that I would experience a laundry problem no matter what I was using to try to manage my menses. So heavy that I was unable to leave my house and unable to do more than sit on the toilet or lie down during those days. So heavy that I would soak a pad (couldn't use tampons) within minutes. Blood would gush out with such force that it made me feel weak when it happened.
I finally had enough when I realized that I was planning my entire life around my period and when I figured I'd be experiencing menstrual flooding. The OB/Gyn nurse I spoke with was alarmed and asked why I had never gone to the ER. Call me silly, but it seems a bit ridiculous to show up to the ER and announce that you're there because you're bleeding to death. . .out of your vadge. She disagreed and said that losing that volume of blood in such a short period (hah!) could be dangerous and that they'd want to evaluate me the next time it happened. I agreed to go to the ER the next time, but I ended up getting my next period ten days late. This is distressing enough, but it was even more distressing that my period started two hours before my gynecologist appointment. Crap!
As it turns out, that actually wasn't such a bad thing. Yes, I know, no one wants to be in stirrups when they are bleeding. Heck, I don't want to be in stirrups period!
My gynecologist agreed that it was utter bullshit that I was being held hostage by my menstrual cycle. I just love my doctor and respect that he's not an arrogant douche, but I was still expecting to have to argue my case that this period was not normal and that living like this wasn't acceptable. I almost wanted to cry when he empathized and said that it sounds awful and that he was glad I was seeking help.
Of the options presented, inserting a hormone-infused IUD (Mirena) was the least invasive so that's what I decided to try first. Friends and family are aware that my husband had a vasectomy less than a month ago. And I just had an IUD inserted. Yeah, I think my hubs is just totally thrilled with the way I chose to handle my problem. The timing, it boggles.
I've never had an IUD before and it sounded just horrible to me. A device that stays in your body - in your uterus! - for years at a time?! No thanks, that sounds horrible.
After inspecting one and having a lengthy discussion about what hormone is released by Mirena (and which are not), I agreed to go ahead and do it right then. I know some of you are like, "WTF? ON YOUR PERIOD?? ZOMG!!!" Please realize that I wasn't thrilled at the prospect either. I'm apparently not the only one who likes my doctor and his schedule is pretty full so I didn't want to wait for another cycle or two before coming back. Also, he indicated that it was pretty well as good a time as it gets to insert an IUD based on the position of my cervix during menses. My husband wasn't there to give his opinion (odd since he usually attends all appointments with me - I have issues with doctors), but I made a spur of the moment decision to just do it.
He talked to me through the entire procedure and always let me know what he was going to do before moving ahead. My old friend, the plastic speculum, was surprisingly comfortable. I'm usually squeezed up tighter than a virgin at a whore convention so that it's almost impossible to get it in and hurts like a mofo to click-click-click that bad boy open. He said he was going to swabbed the interior of my ladyparts with iodine. I half-way sat up, "Inside?!" Yes, inside. No, freezing cold iodine up your cooch doesn't feel good at all. Not even on a hot day.
Whatever, my vagina and my cervix was swabbed with iodine. It's not the worst thing I've had up in there. It wasn't that bad and I figured that would probably be the worst of the whole procedure. My naivete. . .it is so precious.
"I'm going to clip your cervix up and this will feel like a hard pinching pressure. One, two, three. . ."
OH. MY. CERVIX!!!
HOLY CRAPOLA!!
Immediate thought: MUST. NOT. KILL. HIM!!!
I couldn't breathe for a moment or two and I immediately broke out in sweat. "Fuck, Doc, that really hurts," is all that I could push out between my clenched teeth. Yes, I cursed in front of my doctor and his nurse. No, I don't care and I don't think they did either.
"I know. We're almost done. I'm going to measure now. This might feel uncomfortable" Actually, I was so hyper-aware that MY CERVIX HAD A FREAKING CLAMP ON IT that I hardly noticed this measuring. If anything, it reminded me of getting a pap smear and was the least painful part of the entire procedure.
At some point, his nurse grabbed my hand and murmured that it was almost over. I was covered in a thin film of sweat and trying like crazy to breathe and not freak out because THERE WAS A CLAMP ON MY FREAKING CERVIX!
The IUD was inserted. Again, not all that painful because all I could feel or think about was my cervix. I know it was only a few minutes at the most because there was a clock on the wall, but it felt like eternity before my cervix was released from such torment.
I was lying on the table and slowly became aware that it was over. I propped up on my elbows, feeling like I'd just been thrown for a loop. He helped me out of the stirrups and told me to relax for a minute before getting up. We all discussed when to schedule my re-check and then he helped pull me up to a sitting position. I still felt weird, but wanted to get the heck out of there at that point.
While I was getting dressed, I was very aware that I didn't feel right. There was something inside of me and it felt wrong. My cervix was smarting something fierce and I felt almost lightheaded from the whole experience. My world was rocked and not in a good way.
Why did this hurt so much? I don't know. Perhaps my cervix is just particularly sensitive. My cervix has never dilated by itself. It has been manually dilated twice and I was under general anaesthesia both times. Now I recognize the odd ache that I felt after both procedure.
I went home and was unable to walk upright within a couple of hours. I couldn't pick up my baby. I couldn't get in the shower. I couldn't do much of anything except lie down and curl up in the fetal position.
I was tempted to use the pain meds I'd been given after my last c-section, but didn't want to be out of it when baby woke for middle of the night nursing sessions. I stopped taking prescription pain meds within two weeks of that surgery, but my cervix hurt bad enough after inserting the IUD that I wanted that level of pain relief. I was also experiencing horrible cramping. I ended up taking Tylenol to manage the pain. In retrospect, I should have taken something stronger because no one gets a shiny gold star for being a pain martyr.
The pain finally began to subside 36-hours after insertion. I am still very aware that there is something inside of me, but I'm hopeful that this sensation will diminish over time. I'm still getting the odd twinge of a cramp, but nowhere near as bad as it was yesterday.
I have heard from many women who have had an IUD and it's a pretty even split. The ones who love it LOOOOOVE it and the ones who hate it HAAAAATE it. None of them indicated that they experienced anywhere near the level of pain that I have experienced. Only time will tell if the IUD works in the way I hope it will and I will be ecstatic if I can reclaim my life.
Have you had an IUD? Did you have a painful insertion? Was it horribly painful after insertion? Did you have any positive or negative side effects? Comment anonymously if you'd like and share your experience.
Oh, yes, the title of this post may seem odd. The instrument that was used to hold my cervix is called a tenaculum. While it is certainly a useful instrument, it is also most definitely a torture device. Do a GIS and be prepared to see the stuff of my nightmares.
What is so important to write down for the readership - all that might be left after a one-year absence?! Is it the Benghazi assassinations, the exploitation of Sandy Hook to push a political agenda, or the hot mess and herp-a-derp that was my Facebook feed during the entire election season? Is it the milestones reached by my sweet baby and my preschooler? Is it a helpful post detailing normal behavior of a breastfed newborn, infant, and toddler? Is it a PSA about how to properly adjust side-mirrors on a vehicle? What could possibly awake my writing spirit from such a deep slumber? My vagina, of course!
Are you new here? If so, consider this a fair warning: I get very graphic and descriptive and this is a post about menstruation and female genitalia. That sounds really nice, but it's too polite and some of you might not understand. . .I'm going to talk about how it feels to have a faucet of blood running from between your legs and what I'm trying in order to not be held hostage by my bleeding snatch for two days out of every twenty.
Anyone left? Let's proceed!
***
Though I am still breastfeeding my 13-month old, my period resumed in mid-September. I could tell it was coming because I had some weird cramping and backaches for a couple of weeks leading up to it. It was, predictably, quite heavy and I chalked it up to my uterus making up for lost time.
By the new year, I had experienced seven periods. I can handle heavy and, since having 20- to 22-day cycles (or shorter!) for so long, I can also handle frequency. It's the volume that I can't handle.
How heavy is heavy? So heavy that I have to use pads I'd purchased to be used immediately postpartum, but never needed since the lochia wasn't nearly that bad. So heavy that I couldn't get my menstrual cup (it was the Diva, though I bought a Keeper to try and couldn't bring myself to deal with it) to actually form a seal. So heavy that I would experience a laundry problem no matter what I was using to try to manage my menses. So heavy that I was unable to leave my house and unable to do more than sit on the toilet or lie down during those days. So heavy that I would soak a pad (couldn't use tampons) within minutes. Blood would gush out with such force that it made me feel weak when it happened.
I finally had enough when I realized that I was planning my entire life around my period and when I figured I'd be experiencing menstrual flooding. The OB/Gyn nurse I spoke with was alarmed and asked why I had never gone to the ER. Call me silly, but it seems a bit ridiculous to show up to the ER and announce that you're there because you're bleeding to death. . .out of your vadge. She disagreed and said that losing that volume of blood in such a short period (hah!) could be dangerous and that they'd want to evaluate me the next time it happened. I agreed to go to the ER the next time, but I ended up getting my next period ten days late. This is distressing enough, but it was even more distressing that my period started two hours before my gynecologist appointment. Crap!
As it turns out, that actually wasn't such a bad thing. Yes, I know, no one wants to be in stirrups when they are bleeding. Heck, I don't want to be in stirrups period!
My gynecologist agreed that it was utter bullshit that I was being held hostage by my menstrual cycle. I just love my doctor and respect that he's not an arrogant douche, but I was still expecting to have to argue my case that this period was not normal and that living like this wasn't acceptable. I almost wanted to cry when he empathized and said that it sounds awful and that he was glad I was seeking help.
Of the options presented, inserting a hormone-infused IUD (Mirena) was the least invasive so that's what I decided to try first. Friends and family are aware that my husband had a vasectomy less than a month ago. And I just had an IUD inserted. Yeah, I think my hubs is just totally thrilled with the way I chose to handle my problem. The timing, it boggles.
I've never had an IUD before and it sounded just horrible to me. A device that stays in your body - in your uterus! - for years at a time?! No thanks, that sounds horrible.
After inspecting one and having a lengthy discussion about what hormone is released by Mirena (and which are not), I agreed to go ahead and do it right then. I know some of you are like, "WTF? ON YOUR PERIOD?? ZOMG!!!" Please realize that I wasn't thrilled at the prospect either. I'm apparently not the only one who likes my doctor and his schedule is pretty full so I didn't want to wait for another cycle or two before coming back. Also, he indicated that it was pretty well as good a time as it gets to insert an IUD based on the position of my cervix during menses. My husband wasn't there to give his opinion (odd since he usually attends all appointments with me - I have issues with doctors), but I made a spur of the moment decision to just do it.
He talked to me through the entire procedure and always let me know what he was going to do before moving ahead. My old friend, the plastic speculum, was surprisingly comfortable. I'm usually squeezed up tighter than a virgin at a whore convention so that it's almost impossible to get it in and hurts like a mofo to click-click-click that bad boy open. He said he was going to swabbed the interior of my ladyparts with iodine. I half-way sat up, "Inside?!" Yes, inside. No, freezing cold iodine up your cooch doesn't feel good at all. Not even on a hot day.
Whatever, my vagina and my cervix was swabbed with iodine. It's not the worst thing I've had up in there. It wasn't that bad and I figured that would probably be the worst of the whole procedure. My naivete. . .it is so precious.
"I'm going to clip your cervix up and this will feel like a hard pinching pressure. One, two, three. . ."
OH. MY. CERVIX!!!
HOLY CRAPOLA!!
Immediate thought: MUST. NOT. KILL. HIM!!!
I couldn't breathe for a moment or two and I immediately broke out in sweat. "Fuck, Doc, that really hurts," is all that I could push out between my clenched teeth. Yes, I cursed in front of my doctor and his nurse. No, I don't care and I don't think they did either.
"I know. We're almost done. I'm going to measure now. This might feel uncomfortable" Actually, I was so hyper-aware that MY CERVIX HAD A FREAKING CLAMP ON IT that I hardly noticed this measuring. If anything, it reminded me of getting a pap smear and was the least painful part of the entire procedure.
At some point, his nurse grabbed my hand and murmured that it was almost over. I was covered in a thin film of sweat and trying like crazy to breathe and not freak out because THERE WAS A CLAMP ON MY FREAKING CERVIX!
The IUD was inserted. Again, not all that painful because all I could feel or think about was my cervix. I know it was only a few minutes at the most because there was a clock on the wall, but it felt like eternity before my cervix was released from such torment.
I was lying on the table and slowly became aware that it was over. I propped up on my elbows, feeling like I'd just been thrown for a loop. He helped me out of the stirrups and told me to relax for a minute before getting up. We all discussed when to schedule my re-check and then he helped pull me up to a sitting position. I still felt weird, but wanted to get the heck out of there at that point.
While I was getting dressed, I was very aware that I didn't feel right. There was something inside of me and it felt wrong. My cervix was smarting something fierce and I felt almost lightheaded from the whole experience. My world was rocked and not in a good way.
Why did this hurt so much? I don't know. Perhaps my cervix is just particularly sensitive. My cervix has never dilated by itself. It has been manually dilated twice and I was under general anaesthesia both times. Now I recognize the odd ache that I felt after both procedure.
I went home and was unable to walk upright within a couple of hours. I couldn't pick up my baby. I couldn't get in the shower. I couldn't do much of anything except lie down and curl up in the fetal position.
I was tempted to use the pain meds I'd been given after my last c-section, but didn't want to be out of it when baby woke for middle of the night nursing sessions. I stopped taking prescription pain meds within two weeks of that surgery, but my cervix hurt bad enough after inserting the IUD that I wanted that level of pain relief. I was also experiencing horrible cramping. I ended up taking Tylenol to manage the pain. In retrospect, I should have taken something stronger because no one gets a shiny gold star for being a pain martyr.
The pain finally began to subside 36-hours after insertion. I am still very aware that there is something inside of me, but I'm hopeful that this sensation will diminish over time. I'm still getting the odd twinge of a cramp, but nowhere near as bad as it was yesterday.
I have heard from many women who have had an IUD and it's a pretty even split. The ones who love it LOOOOOVE it and the ones who hate it HAAAAATE it. None of them indicated that they experienced anywhere near the level of pain that I have experienced. Only time will tell if the IUD works in the way I hope it will and I will be ecstatic if I can reclaim my life.
Have you had an IUD? Did you have a painful insertion? Was it horribly painful after insertion? Did you have any positive or negative side effects? Comment anonymously if you'd like and share your experience.
***
Oh, yes, the title of this post may seem odd. The instrument that was used to hold my cervix is called a tenaculum. While it is certainly a useful instrument, it is also most definitely a torture device. Do a GIS and be prepared to see the stuff of my nightmares.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
What Exactly is "Normal" Down Below?
Have you missed my blog posts about sex in general or vagina in particular? Well, then you're in luck! Prudes need not read any further - you've been warned.
I've noticed for many years that most porn actresses sport nearly identical looking nether regions. Not only is there a specific "look" in porn videos, but print photos apparently received the same memo and reveal much of the same predictable result. What is the preferred look that our X-rated friends are hustling? It is a snatch that is totally devoid of any hair and with an utter lack of any labia minora visible.
From an aesthetic standpoint, I can see why the hairless look is more popular for men and women. After all, one watches porn to see people screwing. . .not to see what looks like a woman giving birth to a baby bear. Hair obscures the vision and porn is all about visual stimulation. I get that and I'm okay with it. Of course, this grooming style spilled over to the general public a long time ago and I'd wager that nearly all women under the age of 30 keep up a bald vulva. Whether or not they realize that they were manipulated into doing so by the porn industry (either through a significant other suggesting it or them doing it on their own after seeing it represented) is debatable and it doesn't really matter. Speaking for myself, I think variety is fun and see nothing wrong with a rotation between shag, hardwood, or Berber.
The absence of labia minora is more puzzling and, I think, it has far more damaging consequences for women in general. After all, hair can grow back as pubic fashions change and removing hair is a much easier proposition than removing excess labia. Depending on the media, there are a few options: one can tuck in their labia minora, have their labia minora digitally altered to look smaller or disappear entirely, or one can have a labiaplasty. Obviously, cutting away a sensitive part of your genitals is the most extreme example and it's the one that I see becoming the result of exercising the first two options.
The more times that women see a tucked labia or a photoshopped vulva, the more times that she'll feel unusual or weird for not looking the same way. Ultimately, she may well end up seeing a plastic surgeon to "fix" what was never broken in the first place. She seeks to be "normal" when, in fact, she already was the normal one.
It's like breast implants. Heavily padded bras are one thing, but getting a surgery to alter your body is an entirely different animal. Once women and men began seeing the result of breast implants, more women sought them. The motivation behind the surgery makes no difference because the result is the same. As more women get big fake boobs, women without big boobs begin to feel increasingly bizarre. The natural women probably realize that they are being manipulated to want something unnatural, but the fact is that the natural woman looks weird at a certain point (and in certain geographic areas or work industries) rather than the other way around.
Breast augmentations have become very popular and quite common. Is labiaplasty the next plastic surgery craze? If so, where do we put down our foot and say "ENOUGH!"
Natural is no longer necessarily "normal." Our sense of normalcy is being changed by surgeons, one cut at a time. I can't blame the surgeons for filling a need. The surgery most often wouldn't even be considered if it weren't for the porn industry normalizing an unnatural look.
A designer snatch. A customized c*nt. A perfect p*ssy. I respectfully submit that such things aren't worthy of pursuit. As I say about most (certainly not all) cosmetic surgery, I think the money would be better spent with a psychiatrist to find out why you're so unhappy with your own self. To find out why you feel the need to surgically alter (mutilate, enhance, or whatever you want to call it) your body in an effort to find peace and contentment.
I think my husband said it best when he said that no man is going to refuse to have sex with a woman because her p*ssy lips protrude. Indeed, I'd suggest that having at least a little protrusion makes sex more pleasurable for both men and women because the labia are an extension of the vagina and the stroking friction feels good. That said, there is a wide range of normal and warm & wet feels good no matter what the rest of the packaging looks like.
I write all of this knowing that I'm a hypocrite. I've often thought that I'd like to do one specific thing to my snatch. My husband, and every other man who I've mentioned this to, thinks I'm absolutely nuts. I know I have a great little p*ssy and I logically realize that my emotions on the matter have been manipulated by the porn industry. However, there is still that part of me that thinks it would be so much better if I just do this one little thing.
Thank goodness I have the number of a good therapist!
I've noticed for many years that most porn actresses sport nearly identical looking nether regions. Not only is there a specific "look" in porn videos, but print photos apparently received the same memo and reveal much of the same predictable result. What is the preferred look that our X-rated friends are hustling? It is a snatch that is totally devoid of any hair and with an utter lack of any labia minora visible.
From an aesthetic standpoint, I can see why the hairless look is more popular for men and women. After all, one watches porn to see people screwing. . .not to see what looks like a woman giving birth to a baby bear. Hair obscures the vision and porn is all about visual stimulation. I get that and I'm okay with it. Of course, this grooming style spilled over to the general public a long time ago and I'd wager that nearly all women under the age of 30 keep up a bald vulva. Whether or not they realize that they were manipulated into doing so by the porn industry (either through a significant other suggesting it or them doing it on their own after seeing it represented) is debatable and it doesn't really matter. Speaking for myself, I think variety is fun and see nothing wrong with a rotation between shag, hardwood, or Berber.
The absence of labia minora is more puzzling and, I think, it has far more damaging consequences for women in general. After all, hair can grow back as pubic fashions change and removing hair is a much easier proposition than removing excess labia. Depending on the media, there are a few options: one can tuck in their labia minora, have their labia minora digitally altered to look smaller or disappear entirely, or one can have a labiaplasty. Obviously, cutting away a sensitive part of your genitals is the most extreme example and it's the one that I see becoming the result of exercising the first two options.
The more times that women see a tucked labia or a photoshopped vulva, the more times that she'll feel unusual or weird for not looking the same way. Ultimately, she may well end up seeing a plastic surgeon to "fix" what was never broken in the first place. She seeks to be "normal" when, in fact, she already was the normal one.
It's like breast implants. Heavily padded bras are one thing, but getting a surgery to alter your body is an entirely different animal. Once women and men began seeing the result of breast implants, more women sought them. The motivation behind the surgery makes no difference because the result is the same. As more women get big fake boobs, women without big boobs begin to feel increasingly bizarre. The natural women probably realize that they are being manipulated to want something unnatural, but the fact is that the natural woman looks weird at a certain point (and in certain geographic areas or work industries) rather than the other way around.
Breast augmentations have become very popular and quite common. Is labiaplasty the next plastic surgery craze? If so, where do we put down our foot and say "ENOUGH!"
Natural is no longer necessarily "normal." Our sense of normalcy is being changed by surgeons, one cut at a time. I can't blame the surgeons for filling a need. The surgery most often wouldn't even be considered if it weren't for the porn industry normalizing an unnatural look.
A designer snatch. A customized c*nt. A perfect p*ssy. I respectfully submit that such things aren't worthy of pursuit. As I say about most (certainly not all) cosmetic surgery, I think the money would be better spent with a psychiatrist to find out why you're so unhappy with your own self. To find out why you feel the need to surgically alter (mutilate, enhance, or whatever you want to call it) your body in an effort to find peace and contentment.
I think my husband said it best when he said that no man is going to refuse to have sex with a woman because her p*ssy lips protrude. Indeed, I'd suggest that having at least a little protrusion makes sex more pleasurable for both men and women because the labia are an extension of the vagina and the stroking friction feels good. That said, there is a wide range of normal and warm & wet feels good no matter what the rest of the packaging looks like.
I write all of this knowing that I'm a hypocrite. I've often thought that I'd like to do one specific thing to my snatch. My husband, and every other man who I've mentioned this to, thinks I'm absolutely nuts. I know I have a great little p*ssy and I logically realize that my emotions on the matter have been manipulated by the porn industry. However, there is still that part of me that thinks it would be so much better if I just do this one little thing.
Thank goodness I have the number of a good therapist!
Friday, September 23, 2011
My Ironic Nickname
Here's a real quick English lesson before the post: Irony is the opposite of what most people think it means. You'd expect a big guy to be called "Fatty" so that is not ironic, but calling him "Slim" fits the definition. I've always been clumsy and accident prone and my parents bestowed upon me the ironic nickname "Grace" at an early age. After my OB appointment yesterday, I think I have earned a new ironic nickname. Just call me "Class" from now on. It all started a couple of days ago. . .
I've written about how I primp before a doctor visit and, knowing that I had an upcoming appointment, I decided to get reacquainted with my razor. All was going well until I got to the main attraction. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned the dangers in shaving areas that you can't see after I cut my labia a month or two ago. That sucked, but it was a clean slice and it healed quickly.
So I've established that shaving by touch alone can be hazardous. This time around I not only couldn't see because my belly obscures my line of sight, but also because I've been wearing my glasses and I obviously don't wear those in the shower. Even if I could see my sn@tch around my belly, I wouldn't be able to see it without working eyes. I was blind x 2 and using a sharp instrument on tender areas - what could possibly go wrong?
I passed my razor over what I thought were the edges of the hedges. A rinse revealed to my fingers that I had instead cut a hole right around the middle of the turf up top. How I so badly misjudged where my razor actually was, I have no idea. I might add that things aren't so bushy down below that I could just fluff things up with a hair pick later to disguise the damage. That's right; I may be a hippie, but I still don't sport a pubic 'fro. Figuring that I was probably thinking it looked worse than it really did, I left well enough alone and put my razor away. I actually went to bed and forgot about it.
As is customary, I surveyed the landscape the next morning as I was getting dressed and HOLY CRAP! I had a giant freaking hole in the middle of my pubic hair. I stared at it, wondering how to fix this horrible hair cut when the obvious solution came to me. In for a penny, in for a pound. Yep, I decided to shave it all off.
After I removed every last hair, I remembered why I had used the razor in the first place. I had a dang doctor's appointment. I might tell my doctor about my spontaneous orgasms, I might smile during breast exams, but I have NEVER presented a completely bald vulva for a pelvic exam and the very thought of someone other than my husband seeing EVERYTHING made me feel terribly uncomfortable.
It's not that my vulva is weird or anything (well, any weirder than any of them look), but I just feel ultra-ultra naked when I go totally bare. What woman wants to be ultra-ultra naked with a stranger fingering her in front of her husband? Actually, that might fly in certain circumstances but not with a doctor who I like and trust. Not only that, but friction tends to engorge the area when I don't have a little bit of hair up top to help buffer things and that leaves me feeling extremely turned on and/or looking extremely irritated. I wouldn't care if I was all red and inflamed looking, but I sure as heck don't want the doctor to think that I'm presenting a wet & horny looking pu$$y because of the stupid pelvic exam.
I could have tried to reschedule the appointment, but his schedule is usually very full and I didn't want to risk losing the appointment I did have. I was trying to think when the last time was that I had a pelvic exam and why. All I could come up with was it was when I was still having significant bleeding problems in this pregnancy and I think the last one I had was right after I had completed my first trimester. I decided that I probably wouldn't need another pelvic exam although I'd experienced another spotting episode over Labor Day so I kept my appointment.
You know, I did not have a pelvic exam yesterday so all my worries were for nothing. That's not to say that I didn't do something so totally boneheaded that I still cringe to think of it. Read on. . .
Yesterday was a hot day. It may not have felt all that hot to the non-pregnant members of the population, but it was hot as the blazes to me. When it's hot out, I prefer to nap wearing as little as possible. With this in mind, I stripped off my clothes (including panties & bra) and slipped on a nightgown when it was naptime. I've been sleeping poorly now for weeks upon weeks so I let naptime last as long as I possibly could before having to jam over to the doctor's office.
My hubs woke me up and said that I had to get dressed because we had to go. He grabbed our son and, while getting ready to put our boy in the car, our dumb dog ran out of the house. This happened as I was pulling a dress out of the closet. The yelling, barking, and resulting mayhem caused me to slip the dress over my head and run outside. I grabbed my son, fearing that our dog might become roadkill, and pulled him in the house while hubs dealt with the dog. Hubs got the dog under control and put back in the house. He put the kiddo in the car while I grabbed my shoes and hopped in the car.
Observant readers may notice what I did not put on. What was I not wearing? Panties.
A bare vulva, no panties (bra was missing too, BTW), and a dress. Class, man, pure class. When did I notice my missing undergarments? When we were half-way to the office and were already running late. Wonderful, just wonderful.
I did not have a pelvic exam so one might think that my whorish attire wouldn't be noticed, right? Wrong! Remember that I was wearing a dress? That means that I need to lift my dress to expose my abdomen so the Doppler can amplify the sound of my baby's heartbeat. Generally, my doctor grabs a sheet and tucks it in the waistband of my skirt or pants while performing this part of his exam.
Guess what? There was nothing for him to tuck the sheet into yesterday. Not only that, but he also took a fundal height measurement and that most definitely revealed that not only was I not wearing panties, but that I was ultra-ultra naked down below.
Ever the professional, even with who I assume is his nuttiest (and perhaps sluttiest) patient, he inquired if there was a reason I'd disrobed and if there was something I wanted him to check out. Uh, no Doc, that's pretty f*cking far from what I'd like because now I feel ultra-ultra naked and hella embarrassed. It was like I was the only one who showed up naked on the nude beach. Sure that I could see my husband's smirk in my peripheral vision, I gave a dismissive wave of the hand and simply said, "No. It's a long story." The doctor wisely kept his mouth shut.
I'd say that I'm officially "that" patient and I have most definitely earned my new ironic nickname. Have you ever had an embarrassing mishap while visiting the doctor? Please share and help me feel like I might still have some tiny lingering shred of dignity left intact.
I've written about how I primp before a doctor visit and, knowing that I had an upcoming appointment, I decided to get reacquainted with my razor. All was going well until I got to the main attraction. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned the dangers in shaving areas that you can't see after I cut my labia a month or two ago. That sucked, but it was a clean slice and it healed quickly.
So I've established that shaving by touch alone can be hazardous. This time around I not only couldn't see because my belly obscures my line of sight, but also because I've been wearing my glasses and I obviously don't wear those in the shower. Even if I could see my sn@tch around my belly, I wouldn't be able to see it without working eyes. I was blind x 2 and using a sharp instrument on tender areas - what could possibly go wrong?
I passed my razor over what I thought were the edges of the hedges. A rinse revealed to my fingers that I had instead cut a hole right around the middle of the turf up top. How I so badly misjudged where my razor actually was, I have no idea. I might add that things aren't so bushy down below that I could just fluff things up with a hair pick later to disguise the damage. That's right; I may be a hippie, but I still don't sport a pubic 'fro. Figuring that I was probably thinking it looked worse than it really did, I left well enough alone and put my razor away. I actually went to bed and forgot about it.
As is customary, I surveyed the landscape the next morning as I was getting dressed and HOLY CRAP! I had a giant freaking hole in the middle of my pubic hair. I stared at it, wondering how to fix this horrible hair cut when the obvious solution came to me. In for a penny, in for a pound. Yep, I decided to shave it all off.
After I removed every last hair, I remembered why I had used the razor in the first place. I had a dang doctor's appointment. I might tell my doctor about my spontaneous orgasms, I might smile during breast exams, but I have NEVER presented a completely bald vulva for a pelvic exam and the very thought of someone other than my husband seeing EVERYTHING made me feel terribly uncomfortable.
It's not that my vulva is weird or anything (well, any weirder than any of them look), but I just feel ultra-ultra naked when I go totally bare. What woman wants to be ultra-ultra naked with a stranger fingering her in front of her husband? Actually, that might fly in certain circumstances but not with a doctor who I like and trust. Not only that, but friction tends to engorge the area when I don't have a little bit of hair up top to help buffer things and that leaves me feeling extremely turned on and/or looking extremely irritated. I wouldn't care if I was all red and inflamed looking, but I sure as heck don't want the doctor to think that I'm presenting a wet & horny looking pu$$y because of the stupid pelvic exam.
I could have tried to reschedule the appointment, but his schedule is usually very full and I didn't want to risk losing the appointment I did have. I was trying to think when the last time was that I had a pelvic exam and why. All I could come up with was it was when I was still having significant bleeding problems in this pregnancy and I think the last one I had was right after I had completed my first trimester. I decided that I probably wouldn't need another pelvic exam although I'd experienced another spotting episode over Labor Day so I kept my appointment.
You know, I did not have a pelvic exam yesterday so all my worries were for nothing. That's not to say that I didn't do something so totally boneheaded that I still cringe to think of it. Read on. . .
Yesterday was a hot day. It may not have felt all that hot to the non-pregnant members of the population, but it was hot as the blazes to me. When it's hot out, I prefer to nap wearing as little as possible. With this in mind, I stripped off my clothes (including panties & bra) and slipped on a nightgown when it was naptime. I've been sleeping poorly now for weeks upon weeks so I let naptime last as long as I possibly could before having to jam over to the doctor's office.
My hubs woke me up and said that I had to get dressed because we had to go. He grabbed our son and, while getting ready to put our boy in the car, our dumb dog ran out of the house. This happened as I was pulling a dress out of the closet. The yelling, barking, and resulting mayhem caused me to slip the dress over my head and run outside. I grabbed my son, fearing that our dog might become roadkill, and pulled him in the house while hubs dealt with the dog. Hubs got the dog under control and put back in the house. He put the kiddo in the car while I grabbed my shoes and hopped in the car.
Observant readers may notice what I did not put on. What was I not wearing? Panties.
A bare vulva, no panties (bra was missing too, BTW), and a dress. Class, man, pure class. When did I notice my missing undergarments? When we were half-way to the office and were already running late. Wonderful, just wonderful.
I did not have a pelvic exam so one might think that my whorish attire wouldn't be noticed, right? Wrong! Remember that I was wearing a dress? That means that I need to lift my dress to expose my abdomen so the Doppler can amplify the sound of my baby's heartbeat. Generally, my doctor grabs a sheet and tucks it in the waistband of my skirt or pants while performing this part of his exam.
Guess what? There was nothing for him to tuck the sheet into yesterday. Not only that, but he also took a fundal height measurement and that most definitely revealed that not only was I not wearing panties, but that I was ultra-ultra naked down below.
Ever the professional, even with who I assume is his nuttiest (and perhaps sluttiest) patient, he inquired if there was a reason I'd disrobed and if there was something I wanted him to check out. Uh, no Doc, that's pretty f*cking far from what I'd like because now I feel ultra-ultra naked and hella embarrassed. It was like I was the only one who showed up naked on the nude beach. Sure that I could see my husband's smirk in my peripheral vision, I gave a dismissive wave of the hand and simply said, "No. It's a long story." The doctor wisely kept his mouth shut.
I'd say that I'm officially "that" patient and I have most definitely earned my new ironic nickname. Have you ever had an embarrassing mishap while visiting the doctor? Please share and help me feel like I might still have some tiny lingering shred of dignity left intact.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
I'm Definitely Patient of the Year
I'm a little over 21-weeks along and I saw my OB last week. He reviewed the big ultrasound results from a couple of weeks ago and everything looks, in his words, "excellent!" He was very happy to hear that I haven't had any spotting episodes since the last appointment and the baby's heartbeat sounds great.
He commented that my weight gain (6 pounds total) is "wonderful" and added that it would be a bit on the low side if I had been at an ideal weight prior to conception, but he was happy with my progress since I was a little overweight to start. Ouch! My husband patiently explained several times after the appointment that, no, the doctor did not say I was fat and I'm going to choose to not obsess on the matter. I guess it could have been worse anyway since he could have told me to reign in my eating and stop stuffing so much food in my pie-hole.
As it is, he told me to keep doing whatever it is that I'm doing. Um, that would be basically living on Sonic burgers, Del Taco tacos, and those vile little tacos (that are oh-so-freaking delicious right now!) from Jack in the Box. Oh, and lemonade. Lots & lots of lemonade.
It really should have been a quick in and out appointment because we were done within around ten minutes. Sensing I had an opportunity and feeling like there was no time like the present, I decided to ask him about a few things that have been rattling around in my noggin. Yep, it was time to talk about childbirth and placentas. I asked my hubs to leave the room since the poor guy turns green when I talk about my placenta plans. I'm nearly certain that my doctor was thinking, "Uh-oh, it's so off-the-wall that she's sending her husband away. . .what in the world is about to come out of her mouth?" If he did think such a thought, he was right to be wary.
I chose to tackle childbirth first. Thanks to the way that my HMO staffs OBs at the hospital, my doctor has no interest - financial or otherwise - in seeing me have a c-section. That's great and I think it would be wonderful if that were the standard because I believe it means the doctor will be more honest when discussing the risks v benefits and less likely to use bullsh*t scare tactics to push a c/s in order to line their own pockets or manage their own time effectively.
Though I'm well informed and have taken it upon myself to get educated on the matter, he detailed the risks involved with each method of delivery. I tried to tell him that I know all that and he asked that I listen because informed consent isn't really informed consent unless the patient is actually informed. The logic of the statement struck a chord so I did listen. When he was finished, I still hadn't made a clear decision. He shrugged and said that there was no need to decide anything yet and I could take another couple of months to come up with how I'd like to birth this baby.
He didn't bring up certain things that I specifically wanted to know about so I came right out with what has been bothering me. I will not disclose the specifics of my questions and I won't share his exact answers. Let's just say that decades of dealing with pregnant females and their kooky questions is probably the only thing that kept him from doing a total facepalm during this discussion.
At the end of it all, I said that I'd rather have an elective repeat c-section and I am not willing to experience a trial of labor. No, he didn't use any scare tactics. No, he didn't push another c/s. He simply stated the obvious and pointed out something I already knew. I was already leaning toward another c-section since last January so I feel confident in my decision. Of course, that's not to say that my thoughts won't change in the coming months. . .
He stood up, ready to leave, when I mentioned that I had one last question. I asked The Question. I wanted to know if the hospital would release my placenta to me. I wish that I'd had a camera handy because the look on his face was priceless. I really do think that I shocked him. . .his jaw actually dropped! He recovered quickly and explained that he'd never been asked that question and he wasn't sure, but that he'd inquire about it on my behalf and get back to me. He made a quick note, stared at me for a moment and asked why I wanted to take my placenta home.
My response? "I'd rather not disclose that information." Yeah, I'm pretty sure that shocked him too. I mean, I'm the patient who is basically an open book about every gross & weird thing that goes on in my body and I'm totally silent on this so I'm certain that he would like to know why I'm mum on the matter.
My husband groaned and rolled his eyes when I told him that I'd discussed my placenta with the doctor. He was certain that there would be no way they'd let me have it because it's, as he calls it, "biological waste." Well, I received a message yesterday from my OB and guess what? I can take that bad boy home! Woo-hoo!
Poor hubs shuddered when I told him the good news and remarked that I probably wouldn't be allowed to take it if they knew about my plans. I said that they don't so it doesn't matter. Then I gagged the poor guy out even more by suggesting that I might just plant it in the garden because it's supposed to be an excellent soil amendment. I don't know that he'll ever eat another bit of produce that I grow again. . .LOL!
So now I'm looking for recommendations for placenta encapsulation in the Orange County area. I will know the birth date since I'm having the birth scheduled. Does anyone know anyone who provides this service? Any help or advice would be appreciated.
He commented that my weight gain (6 pounds total) is "wonderful" and added that it would be a bit on the low side if I had been at an ideal weight prior to conception, but he was happy with my progress since I was a little overweight to start. Ouch! My husband patiently explained several times after the appointment that, no, the doctor did not say I was fat and I'm going to choose to not obsess on the matter. I guess it could have been worse anyway since he could have told me to reign in my eating and stop stuffing so much food in my pie-hole.
As it is, he told me to keep doing whatever it is that I'm doing. Um, that would be basically living on Sonic burgers, Del Taco tacos, and those vile little tacos (that are oh-so-freaking delicious right now!) from Jack in the Box. Oh, and lemonade. Lots & lots of lemonade.
It really should have been a quick in and out appointment because we were done within around ten minutes. Sensing I had an opportunity and feeling like there was no time like the present, I decided to ask him about a few things that have been rattling around in my noggin. Yep, it was time to talk about childbirth and placentas. I asked my hubs to leave the room since the poor guy turns green when I talk about my placenta plans. I'm nearly certain that my doctor was thinking, "Uh-oh, it's so off-the-wall that she's sending her husband away. . .what in the world is about to come out of her mouth?" If he did think such a thought, he was right to be wary.
I chose to tackle childbirth first. Thanks to the way that my HMO staffs OBs at the hospital, my doctor has no interest - financial or otherwise - in seeing me have a c-section. That's great and I think it would be wonderful if that were the standard because I believe it means the doctor will be more honest when discussing the risks v benefits and less likely to use bullsh*t scare tactics to push a c/s in order to line their own pockets or manage their own time effectively.
Though I'm well informed and have taken it upon myself to get educated on the matter, he detailed the risks involved with each method of delivery. I tried to tell him that I know all that and he asked that I listen because informed consent isn't really informed consent unless the patient is actually informed. The logic of the statement struck a chord so I did listen. When he was finished, I still hadn't made a clear decision. He shrugged and said that there was no need to decide anything yet and I could take another couple of months to come up with how I'd like to birth this baby.
He didn't bring up certain things that I specifically wanted to know about so I came right out with what has been bothering me. I will not disclose the specifics of my questions and I won't share his exact answers. Let's just say that decades of dealing with pregnant females and their kooky questions is probably the only thing that kept him from doing a total facepalm during this discussion.
At the end of it all, I said that I'd rather have an elective repeat c-section and I am not willing to experience a trial of labor. No, he didn't use any scare tactics. No, he didn't push another c/s. He simply stated the obvious and pointed out something I already knew. I was already leaning toward another c-section since last January so I feel confident in my decision. Of course, that's not to say that my thoughts won't change in the coming months. . .
He stood up, ready to leave, when I mentioned that I had one last question. I asked The Question. I wanted to know if the hospital would release my placenta to me. I wish that I'd had a camera handy because the look on his face was priceless. I really do think that I shocked him. . .his jaw actually dropped! He recovered quickly and explained that he'd never been asked that question and he wasn't sure, but that he'd inquire about it on my behalf and get back to me. He made a quick note, stared at me for a moment and asked why I wanted to take my placenta home.
My response? "I'd rather not disclose that information." Yeah, I'm pretty sure that shocked him too. I mean, I'm the patient who is basically an open book about every gross & weird thing that goes on in my body and I'm totally silent on this so I'm certain that he would like to know why I'm mum on the matter.
My husband groaned and rolled his eyes when I told him that I'd discussed my placenta with the doctor. He was certain that there would be no way they'd let me have it because it's, as he calls it, "biological waste." Well, I received a message yesterday from my OB and guess what? I can take that bad boy home! Woo-hoo!
Poor hubs shuddered when I told him the good news and remarked that I probably wouldn't be allowed to take it if they knew about my plans. I said that they don't so it doesn't matter. Then I gagged the poor guy out even more by suggesting that I might just plant it in the garden because it's supposed to be an excellent soil amendment. I don't know that he'll ever eat another bit of produce that I grow again. . .LOL!
So now I'm looking for recommendations for placenta encapsulation in the Orange County area. I will know the birth date since I'm having the birth scheduled. Does anyone know anyone who provides this service? Any help or advice would be appreciated.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Do You Primp. . .
for pelvic exams?
While I did have a female physician for around ten years, it's true that I generally prefer male doctors because I've mostly had not-so-good experiences with female physicians. I would think that females would be more understanding or more gentle and men would be, well, brutish men. But I've universally found the opposite to be true; the male doctors I've had (save one) have been far more respectful and sensitive than their female counterparts.
My experiences as a patient lead me to prefer male physicians. Yes, even when I'm looking for an OB/GYN. Therefore, it might sound odd that I have a routine I follow to prepare for a visit to any doctor who might have to paw around my ladyparts.
Some of you might think it sounds like I have a weird kink, but I look at is as more of a courtesy. For example, I wouldn't think of going to the dentist without making sure my mouth is pristine with freshly brushed and flossed teeth. So why would I expect a gynecologist to dig around in my vagina when I have a 5 o'clock shadow and haven't bathed that day? Simply put, I think it would be rude and inconsiderate. All this said, I've often thought it would be hilarious to eat a mouthful of Oreos and see the dentist immediately afterward with all those grainy chocolatey cookie bits up between me teeth. . .
What's my routine? I do a few things, but my primary concern is to make sure that my legs, hedges, and undercarriage are freshly shaved which means that I've taken a shower the day of the exam. I might trim the turf up top if I have the time though it's not something that I worry about since that's not the part that is being handled during a gynecological exam. I make sure that the bottoms of my feet are clean since it would be grody to put dirty feet in the stirrups. I also remember to shave my underarms and put on deodorant because no one wants to catch a stinky whiff while doing a breast exam.
My husband seems amused that I have this prep involved before a pelvic exam and he understands the comparison to visiting the dentist. In any event, I suppose that there's no real primping involved since I just practice what I think is good hygiene before a doctor visit. I can't be the only woman who does this so do weigh in if you primp for pelvic exams.
While I did have a female physician for around ten years, it's true that I generally prefer male doctors because I've mostly had not-so-good experiences with female physicians. I would think that females would be more understanding or more gentle and men would be, well, brutish men. But I've universally found the opposite to be true; the male doctors I've had (save one) have been far more respectful and sensitive than their female counterparts.
My experiences as a patient lead me to prefer male physicians. Yes, even when I'm looking for an OB/GYN. Therefore, it might sound odd that I have a routine I follow to prepare for a visit to any doctor who might have to paw around my ladyparts.
Some of you might think it sounds like I have a weird kink, but I look at is as more of a courtesy. For example, I wouldn't think of going to the dentist without making sure my mouth is pristine with freshly brushed and flossed teeth. So why would I expect a gynecologist to dig around in my vagina when I have a 5 o'clock shadow and haven't bathed that day? Simply put, I think it would be rude and inconsiderate. All this said, I've often thought it would be hilarious to eat a mouthful of Oreos and see the dentist immediately afterward with all those grainy chocolatey cookie bits up between me teeth. . .
What's my routine? I do a few things, but my primary concern is to make sure that my legs, hedges, and undercarriage are freshly shaved which means that I've taken a shower the day of the exam. I might trim the turf up top if I have the time though it's not something that I worry about since that's not the part that is being handled during a gynecological exam. I make sure that the bottoms of my feet are clean since it would be grody to put dirty feet in the stirrups. I also remember to shave my underarms and put on deodorant because no one wants to catch a stinky whiff while doing a breast exam.
My husband seems amused that I have this prep involved before a pelvic exam and he understands the comparison to visiting the dentist. In any event, I suppose that there's no real primping involved since I just practice what I think is good hygiene before a doctor visit. I can't be the only woman who does this so do weigh in if you primp for pelvic exams.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Big Mouth Strikes Again!
No, this is not a post about that whiny emo wuss Morrissey.
We can all agree that I'm not exactly shy and retiring, right? As open as I am about many topics, I am always reluctant to contact a physician and let them know about abnormal symptoms that I'm experiencing. I don't really have a reason other than I don't care for hanging out with the doctor and discussing why my body sucks. Add in that there is only one profession that I dislike more than physicians and perhaps you'll somewhat understand why I'm not a fan of dicking around with this profession's practitioners.
Okay, fine. So I don't like doctors and I generally don't trust them. I don't have to date them, I just need their help every now and again. Now is one of those times.
I finally contacted my doctor about my craptastic menstrual cycle. The only reason I finally sought help is because I actually felt lightheaded on several occasions yesterday and I worried about how my son would react if I fainted. I skipped over my regular MD and went directly to my OB/Gyn because I think my regular doctor was a little too dismissive of my complaints back in late September. Besides, at a certain point it just makes sense to deal with someone who specializes in that particular area. I told him that the frequency and quantity of my periods are negatively impacting my life. I added in that my luteal phase was really short and mentioned that is probably why I've been trying to get pregnant for two years and only have one failed pregnancy to show for my, uh, efforts.
I would have thought that he'd focus on my Red Sea that I'd like to de-part, but instead he GRILLED me on my throwaway comment. He wanted to know when I ovulate and how I know that I've ovulated. He wanted to know what methods I used to gather this data and I get the impression that he thought I should be charting temps. I don't chart temps because it stresses me out to think of my fertility every single day. . .it's stressful enough to think about it only a few times a month!
I replied that I use both ovulation predictor sticks and the consistency of my own cervical fluid as an indicator of my LH surge and my subsequent date of ovulation. Seeing that in writing makes it seem like such an easy thing to answer, but it took a volley of four e-mails to get that straight between us. I felt so frustrated at one point that I wanted to respond that I'm not squeamish about slipping my fingers up my snatch and it's not that hard to see if my body is producing juice that is wet & stretchy. Seriously, it only happens one (two if I'm lucky) days for me now, but it's pretty obvious when it's there.
I'm pretty sure that he was skeptical that I was correctly identifying my ovulation day because he kept going back to wanting to know how I know when I ovulate. I guess this is a big mystery to most women or something? I finally got him to understand that I know what I'm talking about and was able to demonstrate that I know how to determine when I've ovulated. I was tempted to reply that I'm not a dumbass and there's a good chance that a woman has educated herself on female fertility if she's been trying to conceive to two freaking years so gimme a friggin' break, but I held my tongue. Or my fingers, as it were.
After our exhausting all day long e-mail exchange, he agreed with me that my luteal phase was abnormally short. I was pained when he also indicated that a too-short luteal phase can result in early miscarriage. You just know what this makes me wonder about. In that vein, he told me that things like this ordinarily aren't examined, let alone treated, until a woman has suffered two or more miscarriages. However, in light of the data I presented, he felt comfortable addressing the problem now. Ta-da; hooray for being a big mouth who doesn't let things go without a fight! And who says there's no payoff to obsessively taking notes about your vaginal secretions?
How will my too-short luteal phase be addressed? With progesterone suppositories. Uh, say what? Yeah, they go exactly where you might think they should go. He said they're messy, but I figure that I can handle messy. Geez, look at the ridiculous periods I've been having lately. . .yeah, I can definitely handle messy! And I guess it could be worse; I mean, they could be rectal suppositories.
I'm glad I didn't lose my temper and I'm glad that I continued answering his annoying questions. As I said last night on Facebook,
"The squeaky wheel gets the grease.
Alternately, the pushy patient gets the progesterone!"
We can all agree that I'm not exactly shy and retiring, right? As open as I am about many topics, I am always reluctant to contact a physician and let them know about abnormal symptoms that I'm experiencing. I don't really have a reason other than I don't care for hanging out with the doctor and discussing why my body sucks. Add in that there is only one profession that I dislike more than physicians and perhaps you'll somewhat understand why I'm not a fan of dicking around with this profession's practitioners.
Okay, fine. So I don't like doctors and I generally don't trust them. I don't have to date them, I just need their help every now and again. Now is one of those times.
I finally contacted my doctor about my craptastic menstrual cycle. The only reason I finally sought help is because I actually felt lightheaded on several occasions yesterday and I worried about how my son would react if I fainted. I skipped over my regular MD and went directly to my OB/Gyn because I think my regular doctor was a little too dismissive of my complaints back in late September. Besides, at a certain point it just makes sense to deal with someone who specializes in that particular area. I told him that the frequency and quantity of my periods are negatively impacting my life. I added in that my luteal phase was really short and mentioned that is probably why I've been trying to get pregnant for two years and only have one failed pregnancy to show for my, uh, efforts.
I would have thought that he'd focus on my Red Sea that I'd like to de-part, but instead he GRILLED me on my throwaway comment. He wanted to know when I ovulate and how I know that I've ovulated. He wanted to know what methods I used to gather this data and I get the impression that he thought I should be charting temps. I don't chart temps because it stresses me out to think of my fertility every single day. . .it's stressful enough to think about it only a few times a month!
I replied that I use both ovulation predictor sticks and the consistency of my own cervical fluid as an indicator of my LH surge and my subsequent date of ovulation. Seeing that in writing makes it seem like such an easy thing to answer, but it took a volley of four e-mails to get that straight between us. I felt so frustrated at one point that I wanted to respond that I'm not squeamish about slipping my fingers up my snatch and it's not that hard to see if my body is producing juice that is wet & stretchy. Seriously, it only happens one (two if I'm lucky) days for me now, but it's pretty obvious when it's there.
I'm pretty sure that he was skeptical that I was correctly identifying my ovulation day because he kept going back to wanting to know how I know when I ovulate. I guess this is a big mystery to most women or something? I finally got him to understand that I know what I'm talking about and was able to demonstrate that I know how to determine when I've ovulated. I was tempted to reply that I'm not a dumbass and there's a good chance that a woman has educated herself on female fertility if she's been trying to conceive to two freaking years so gimme a friggin' break, but I held my tongue. Or my fingers, as it were.
After our exhausting all day long e-mail exchange, he agreed with me that my luteal phase was abnormally short. I was pained when he also indicated that a too-short luteal phase can result in early miscarriage. You just know what this makes me wonder about. In that vein, he told me that things like this ordinarily aren't examined, let alone treated, until a woman has suffered two or more miscarriages. However, in light of the data I presented, he felt comfortable addressing the problem now. Ta-da; hooray for being a big mouth who doesn't let things go without a fight! And who says there's no payoff to obsessively taking notes about your vaginal secretions?
How will my too-short luteal phase be addressed? With progesterone suppositories. Uh, say what? Yeah, they go exactly where you might think they should go. He said they're messy, but I figure that I can handle messy. Geez, look at the ridiculous periods I've been having lately. . .yeah, I can definitely handle messy! And I guess it could be worse; I mean, they could be rectal suppositories.
I'm glad I didn't lose my temper and I'm glad that I continued answering his annoying questions. As I said last night on Facebook,
"The squeaky wheel gets the grease.
Alternately, the pushy patient gets the progesterone!"
Monday, March 14, 2011
I'm Not a Medical Professional
Plenty of little girls dream of being nurses or doctors, but I wasn't one of them. This might surprise some of you, but the human body and it's disgusting functions has always grossed me out. It's true that I've always liked watching those real-life operation and autopsy shows, but that's just television and I'm pretty sure that I'd faint if I had to see any of that mess in real life. I even felt a little skeeved out while hanging out in the morgue at a hospital. . .and all the stiffs were locked up!
Several years ago, my husband had a hernia operation. He had the poor taste to ask me to check his wound and change his dressing. I tentatively peeled back the tape and recoiled like a snake was lurking underneath. I swear that it looked like they installed a zipper and my tummy did flip-flops whenever I had to look at it. He was annoyed with my theatrics and he took over his own nursey duties as soon as he was able.
My husband recently had back surgery. That means that he had an incision on his back. He can't change a dressing on his back. Guess who gets the honor?
My heart started pounding in my ears when I only looked at the skin surrounding the bandage. It was such a deep shade of purple that it almost looked like our son had colored on his back with markers. I readied my supplies, took a deep breath, and went for it. I yanked off the tape, quickly swabbed it down with whatever the heck it was that they sent him home with, and covered it with gauze as soon as I could. I had faced my fear (aversion is probably a better word) and I felt excited that it was almost over.
For some reason, I was holding my breath through all of this and I exhaled in a rush of relief. My breath made that stupid gauze roll off his back and I was forced to see the incision again. The floor felt like it shifted under my feet and I tossed the gauze back on his wound. I yanked off several lengths of tape and pressed it to his back, being gentle while desperately trying not to get my fingers anywhere near what I knew was underneath that gauze pad. I know it makes no sense. . .it's not like something would jump from his incision and pull me in, but it really freaks me the heck out! Finally finished, I wandered out of the room to rest for a few minutes.
So, my friends, don't ever think you can count on me in a medical crisis!
Several years ago, my husband had a hernia operation. He had the poor taste to ask me to check his wound and change his dressing. I tentatively peeled back the tape and recoiled like a snake was lurking underneath. I swear that it looked like they installed a zipper and my tummy did flip-flops whenever I had to look at it. He was annoyed with my theatrics and he took over his own nursey duties as soon as he was able.
My husband recently had back surgery. That means that he had an incision on his back. He can't change a dressing on his back. Guess who gets the honor?
My heart started pounding in my ears when I only looked at the skin surrounding the bandage. It was such a deep shade of purple that it almost looked like our son had colored on his back with markers. I readied my supplies, took a deep breath, and went for it. I yanked off the tape, quickly swabbed it down with whatever the heck it was that they sent him home with, and covered it with gauze as soon as I could. I had faced my fear (aversion is probably a better word) and I felt excited that it was almost over.
For some reason, I was holding my breath through all of this and I exhaled in a rush of relief. My breath made that stupid gauze roll off his back and I was forced to see the incision again. The floor felt like it shifted under my feet and I tossed the gauze back on his wound. I yanked off several lengths of tape and pressed it to his back, being gentle while desperately trying not to get my fingers anywhere near what I knew was underneath that gauze pad. I know it makes no sense. . .it's not like something would jump from his incision and pull me in, but it really freaks me the heck out! Finally finished, I wandered out of the room to rest for a few minutes.
So, my friends, don't ever think you can count on me in a medical crisis!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Me So Hooooorny!
Yeah, I just stole the title of this post from two pop culture references. Do you know the movie and the song? My alternate title was: One Week Down, Five More to Go
What's the surest way to make me think of something non-stop? Much like dealing with a spoiled child, tell me I can't have something and that is all I want to have or think about. I want to throw myself a tantrum on the floor and beg for whatever it is that I can't have.
What am I restricted from for five more weeks? Sex.
I get that I just had a completed miscarriage and all that, but why was I told that I needed 6-weeks of "pelvic rest?" I read the hospital discharge paperwork and was taken aback at the severity of most of the restrictions, but this one really threw me for a loop. Seriously, six-friggin'-weeks. A month and one half. In case you're wondering, I don't think that's considered a short amount of time and I sure as heck don't like to have my hoo-haw ordered on lockdown.
This waiting period seems rather excessive since I'm not in any pain and I'm certainly good to go - if you know what I mean. Add in that I've been on doctor-ordered pelvic rest nearly non-stop since the end of November and you might understand why I'm chomping at the bit to get back to business with my hubs.
I think my lonely pelvis has only been in full operation for like two solid weeks since the very end of November and it's friggin' February now. How much rest does one pelvis really need?? I can truthfully say that my pelvis is plenty rested at this point!
And what the heck does "pelvic rest" mean anyway? I get that penile penetration is probably out, but what about everything else? Is third-base still on the table? And, if that's not okay, then why does every doctor I see lately feel compelled to get their gloved hands up my vadge? What about orgasms? Will I wreck something up there if I just go for the Big O by myself? Is horseback riding okay? What about enjoying a glass of wine and setting the washing machine to agitate for a good long while?
I've come to the conclusion that these doctors hate my husband, therefore I have had a perpetual pelvic rest restriction for what seems like forever. Do these doctors want me to go bat-shit crazy? Because, if so, the diabolical plan is totally working.
In closing, remember this helpful bit of advice the next time you're trying to decide whether or not to have kids or go to the doctor: Kids don't kill your sex life - doctors do!
What's the surest way to make me think of something non-stop? Much like dealing with a spoiled child, tell me I can't have something and that is all I want to have or think about. I want to throw myself a tantrum on the floor and beg for whatever it is that I can't have.
What am I restricted from for five more weeks? Sex.
I get that I just had a completed miscarriage and all that, but why was I told that I needed 6-weeks of "pelvic rest?" I read the hospital discharge paperwork and was taken aback at the severity of most of the restrictions, but this one really threw me for a loop. Seriously, six-friggin'-weeks. A month and one half. In case you're wondering, I don't think that's considered a short amount of time and I sure as heck don't like to have my hoo-haw ordered on lockdown.
This waiting period seems rather excessive since I'm not in any pain and I'm certainly good to go - if you know what I mean. Add in that I've been on doctor-ordered pelvic rest nearly non-stop since the end of November and you might understand why I'm chomping at the bit to get back to business with my hubs.
I think my lonely pelvis has only been in full operation for like two solid weeks since the very end of November and it's friggin' February now. How much rest does one pelvis really need?? I can truthfully say that my pelvis is plenty rested at this point!
And what the heck does "pelvic rest" mean anyway? I get that penile penetration is probably out, but what about everything else? Is third-base still on the table? And, if that's not okay, then why does every doctor I see lately feel compelled to get their gloved hands up my vadge? What about orgasms? Will I wreck something up there if I just go for the Big O by myself? Is horseback riding okay? What about enjoying a glass of wine and setting the washing machine to agitate for a good long while?
I've come to the conclusion that these doctors hate my husband, therefore I have had a perpetual pelvic rest restriction for what seems like forever. Do these doctors want me to go bat-shit crazy? Because, if so, the diabolical plan is totally working.
In closing, remember this helpful bit of advice the next time you're trying to decide whether or not to have kids or go to the doctor: Kids don't kill your sex life - doctors do!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Third ER Trip in Two Months
The title says it all, but here it is again in case you missed all the excitement: I had yet another trip to the ER yesterday. That brings the final count to three ER trips in less than two months for one pregnancy. I should add that I have only once before been in an ER in my entire 35-years.
I can also say that I've had my first ride in an ambulance. For the record, I don't recommend it. It's not that the paramedics weren't great because I couldn't have asked for better first responders. It's that I was in so much agony that I actually felt the need to get an ambulance to deliver me to the hospital. I could not have made it by riding shotgun in my hubby's car. I couldn't even sit up or stand, let alone walk to a car.
So what happened? Here's the story with all the gory details. There isn't really any gore though so don't be afraid to continue reading.
I began to bleed a little late Tuesday evening. I'll spare you the sexy details, but let's just say that it probably wasn't too smart to ignore certain restrictions that I ignored. The bleeding never increased and it was only enough to justify wearing a liner so it wasn't a big deal.
I woke up yesterday with more back pain than what I've been experiencing for the last several days. Along with the back pain came stomach cramps. Since I'm the Queen of Denial, I figured that something I'd eaten was proving difficult to digest.
I packed up the kiddo and went to a park playdate with friends for a few hours. My back really started to bother me while we were at the park, but I tried to keep my mind off the pain by chatting with friends and having a good laugh over our kids splishing and splashing in puddles. At some point, maybe around noon, I noticed that the cramps were getting stronger. Still wasn't enough pain to worry about though.
My son and I arrived home around 1:30 yesterday afternoon. I realized that I was experiencing fairly strong pain once I'd left my friends and lost my distractions. It wasn't enough to want to take anything for pain management, but it definitely was getting my attention. I put my son down for a nap and I went to lie down on my own bed because I just wasn't feeling well.
I don't suffer menstrual cramps and I have never experienced labor. If you have felt labor, you probably know what was happening. I sure as heck did not.
I had a D&C scheduled for today, but my body had other plans and finally started the process to begin to release the baby. Everything I've read and heard indicates that a completed miscarriage feels like strong menstrual pain. That sounds perfectly acceptable, right? The problem is that I don't suffer from period pain (I just bleed a lot and often) so I was TOTALLY UNPREPARED for how quickly the pain went from 0 to 60 and just how painful it can be. No wonder some women are totally crippled by their cycles! Those of you who suffer painful periods have my complete sympathy.
I started a text-a-thon with a couple of friends; one who has had a natural miscarriage at the same gestational point and one who is a natural childbirth instructor. Both offered much-needed support and fantastically wonderful advice on how to manage the pain and what to expect. Since I was supposed to have the D&C today, I couldn't really take anything so I had to rely upon natural pain relief methods and distraction.
I was quiet so as not to wake my son, but I asked my husband home around 3:00 because the pain was clearly intensifying and I knew that I could not handle caring for my son while trying to handle this event. I tried to remember to stay hydrated with water and even ate an egg sandwich that my husband thoughtfully prepared for me when he arrived home.
Things were fine, relatively speaking, until around 4:00 or so. That's when I began to dry-heave and felt like I might have diarrhea. I contacted my OB around 4:40 and he responded to my message within five minutes. I think he's the best physician I have ever had; he's certainly the kindest and most responsive. He indicated that everything sounded normal, but that I should feel free to take Tylenol or the Norco, which is Vicodin w/ Tylenol (weird name, huh?), that I picked up at the pharmacy the day before.
Those of you who know me surely know that I do not take pills for no reason. I think there is some value in letting pain run it's course. I was trying every single suggestion for natural pain relief and I can say that distraction only goes so far. I first found myself whimpering through the cramping and, as they intensified, I ended up moaning into my pillow while trying to relax.
I took one Norco at 5:00 and it afforded me about 90 minutes of reasonable pain relief. It did not remove the pain by any stretch, but it did make it somewhat more bearable for a period of time. There reached a point where all I could think about was the pain and when it would hit again. The contractions (if you will) brought me to my knees if I was standing or made me writhe around on my bed if I was lying down. I figured this was normal and tried to muster on.
Then I began violently shaking and vomiting. That was followed by cold sweats and then hot sweats. I wasn't merely trembling, I was SHAKING. I was shaking so badly that I could no longer stand or sit up on my own. I became lightheaded and the room began spinning more than once. I've never fainted before and I suppose this is when I began to feel frightened that something was really going wrong with this miscarriage.
I screamed out for my husband to help me. I felt like my insides were trying to get to the outside and I was sitting on the toilet to hasten the process. Besides a tremendous amount of vomit, nothing happened. Nothing. There was some sticky, almost mucousy, blood and several small clots. That was it.
I suddenly felt better wondered aloud if it was over. My husband looked and reported that there was nothing in the toilet. My reprieve lasted probably less than a minute and I became violently ill all over again. There was nothing in my digestive system at this point, but I continued to vomit up stomach acid that burned all the way out my throat and even out through my nose. I started crying and begging for help.
My husband wanted to drive me to the hospital, but I could not handle the idea of the drive (even though it's like 3 miles from our house) or the eons-long wait to be treated. He suggested an ambulance and I brushed off the idea. He continued to carry/drag me back and forth from the bed to the toilet.
The only thing that appeared to be happening was that I began to freak out more and more with each contraction. I thought that I was only moaning through the pain, but my husband told me later that I was crying out loudly enough (screaming really) that I frightened our son. I regret that I couldn't keep better control and that I caused my little boy so much distress. I had no idea that I was having such a massive freak-out and wish now that I'd gone to the hospital when my husband first suggested the idea.
It finally got so bad that we called an ambulance (waaah-mbulance was more like it) to take me to the hospital. I think I had every single awful and uncomfortable symptom: back pain, major contracting, vomiting, diarrhea, cold sweats, hot sweats, weakness, lightheadedness, hyperventilation - basically if it's gross or sucky, it happened. The paramedics (I learned later that the FD showed up too) were at my house in what seemed like only a minute. My blood pressure was high and I was over-oxygenated because I had apparently been hyperventilating for an extended period of time.
They were all incredibly helpful, but the paramedic who looked like Dr. Drew was really helpful at getting me to calm the heck down. He must have repeated that my panic was only serving to increase the pain at least 1,001 times. When my eyes wildly darted around, he'd remind me to look at him and take low and slow breaths. When I'd clench up, he'd remind me to take control of my body and try to relax. When I began crying about the pain, he'd ask me to tell him about the happiest place I've been. No, the happiest place on Earth wasn't Disneyland. It was a quiet beach on Kauai and I kept trying to visualize a palm tree.
I lost my pants at some point so I was wheeled out of my house wearing a blanket from the ambulance. I'm not ashamed of my body, but I would have misgivings about six strange men seeing me nude from the waist down with my legs flailing this way and that. As I memorably said on one occasion, I just wouldn't do split beaver shots these days. You know, I did not care about modesty at that point. I remained unconcerned about my lack of clothing until I was getting ready to be discharged from the hospital.
So they took me to the ER and, I guess since I arrived in an ambulance, I jumped the line of people in the waiting room. Hubs told me the waiting room was PACKED when he got there so I'm thankful that I didn't have to wait for treatment. I don't know what that privilege is going to cost, but that's one bill I will happily pay without complaint because it was worth it. Okay, okay, my husband will happily pay it!
I was immediately ushered into a private ER room and I was surrounded by nurses and a doctor. They inexplicably changed out the IV that I was given in the ambulance (why, I have no idea?), but I was happy they did so since they also began to administer IV pain meds.
I'll point out again that I do not usually bother with taking any medication for pain. Hubby thinks it's because I'm being a martyr, but whatever. The first hit of IV drugs did nothing to ease my pain. They followed up with another dose around ten minutes later. Between that and the Benadryl to help me sleep (as if, right?) I definitely felt my pain and anxiety ease up a bit. Hubby tells me that I got high as a kite and was totally loopy from that point on.
The ER doctor performed a pelvic exam and, unbelievably, my baby still wasn't coming out. I thought for sure it was nearly over, but it wasn't even close. He sent a gynecologist down and she verified that this was nowhere near completion so she slated me to get a D&C. Even though I'd vomited out my stomach contents, I had to wait for six hours to pass since I'd eaten the dang egg sandwich.
Here's a funny side note because you know I have to find something funny in all of this. I was totally inappropriate with the gynecologist and my hubby tells me that I was practically flirting with her. I kept complimenting her pretty blue eyes and going on & on about how lovely I found her eyes. I'm sure that ER staff appreciates when a kind and appreciative patient comes through instead of a bitchy and belligerent one, but damn I'm a weirdo! Alternately, reasons like these are why I don't take drugs! haha
The doubly funny thing is that I'm not even particularly fond of blue eyes, but show me a set of baby browns and I'm all over it. Yes, I'm aware that my hubs has green eyes. What can I say? Eyes just don't matter that much in the grand scheme of things, do they?
I ultimately ended up with at least four (but I think the final tally was six) doses of IV pain meds, but I STILL FELT THE DAMN CONTRACTIONS! They were nowhere near as painful, but I still felt them and there was still slight pain associated with them. I guess they were pretty strong or I'm just a big puss. Maybe a little of both.
I finally passed out before going to the OR. I hadn't even been hit with the general anaesthesia yet. I woke up in recovery and asked when I could expect to have the procedure. They nurses told me it was already over and everything went perfectly fine. I couldn't believe it. I had a complete absence of pain - emotionally and physically. It was the easiest recovery from general that I've ever had and I credit the recovery nurses for keeping me calm and focused. After reflecting on it a little, this is also the first time that I went under while still wearing my contacts so I actually could see my surroundings when I came to. Perhaps that helped keep my anxiety at bay too.
There was talk that they might keep me overnight for observation. I wasn't too keen on that idea once my husband told me how upset our son was before I left and after I was gone. I really wanted to be here when he woke up in the morning so he could see that I was okay and everything was going to be okay. I'm thankful that I didn't lose much in the way of blood and was able to urinate easily once I was permitted to consume liquids so they determined that I could go home. As always, it's a hurry up and wait game to get discharged from a hospital. I arrived back home at around 3:00 am.
So how am I doing? I'm doing good. And that's not just trying to be positive; I really am okay. I went through a lot of emotional pain just waiting for it to happen and, once I had the lack of heartbeat confirmed over and over again, I felt a sense of peace for the first time since I learned of my baby's death. Oddly enough, I feel perfectly fine from a physical and emotional standpoint for the first time in nearly three-weeks.
The playground is shut down for six-weeks, I can't drive for two weeks (WTF?!), and I have a bunch of lifting and rest restrictions, but I feel so damn good right now physically and emotionally that I can't get too worked up about it. I guess I'm finally ready to accept/acknowledge what has happened and begin the healing process of this grief journey.
I went to a damn dark place once the pain meds kicked it at the ER and hubs tells me that I told him I was sure I was dying. I thought it at the house, but certainly wasn't going to verbalize it and jinx myself. I even told him that I wanted him to find a good wife and mother for our son. He told me to stop it and I guess I replied that that's just what I do. Uh, what exactly did I mean? Brood about death? That's creepy!
I also clearly informed him that I will never, never, never take the wait and see approach again. The emotional cost was too high and I simply couldn't pay the physical price. Additionally, I let him know that labor pains (if they can even be called that this early on) were immensely over-rated. Everyone thinks they're a comedian when they're a little loaded, eh?
Thank you all for your thoughts, prayers, and well-wishes. It was, simply put, the single most frightening and painful thing that I've ever experienced. I've had four impacted wisdom teeth removed at once and I've had a c-section that left me feeling like I was hit by a bus, but those were NOTHING compared to how much I was suffering before I finally went to the hospital and received treatment. Thank goodness for modern medicine!
I can also say that I've had my first ride in an ambulance. For the record, I don't recommend it. It's not that the paramedics weren't great because I couldn't have asked for better first responders. It's that I was in so much agony that I actually felt the need to get an ambulance to deliver me to the hospital. I could not have made it by riding shotgun in my hubby's car. I couldn't even sit up or stand, let alone walk to a car.
So what happened? Here's the story with all the gory details. There isn't really any gore though so don't be afraid to continue reading.
I began to bleed a little late Tuesday evening. I'll spare you the sexy details, but let's just say that it probably wasn't too smart to ignore certain restrictions that I ignored. The bleeding never increased and it was only enough to justify wearing a liner so it wasn't a big deal.
I woke up yesterday with more back pain than what I've been experiencing for the last several days. Along with the back pain came stomach cramps. Since I'm the Queen of Denial, I figured that something I'd eaten was proving difficult to digest.
I packed up the kiddo and went to a park playdate with friends for a few hours. My back really started to bother me while we were at the park, but I tried to keep my mind off the pain by chatting with friends and having a good laugh over our kids splishing and splashing in puddles. At some point, maybe around noon, I noticed that the cramps were getting stronger. Still wasn't enough pain to worry about though.
My son and I arrived home around 1:30 yesterday afternoon. I realized that I was experiencing fairly strong pain once I'd left my friends and lost my distractions. It wasn't enough to want to take anything for pain management, but it definitely was getting my attention. I put my son down for a nap and I went to lie down on my own bed because I just wasn't feeling well.
I don't suffer menstrual cramps and I have never experienced labor. If you have felt labor, you probably know what was happening. I sure as heck did not.
I had a D&C scheduled for today, but my body had other plans and finally started the process to begin to release the baby. Everything I've read and heard indicates that a completed miscarriage feels like strong menstrual pain. That sounds perfectly acceptable, right? The problem is that I don't suffer from period pain (I just bleed a lot and often) so I was TOTALLY UNPREPARED for how quickly the pain went from 0 to 60 and just how painful it can be. No wonder some women are totally crippled by their cycles! Those of you who suffer painful periods have my complete sympathy.
I started a text-a-thon with a couple of friends; one who has had a natural miscarriage at the same gestational point and one who is a natural childbirth instructor. Both offered much-needed support and fantastically wonderful advice on how to manage the pain and what to expect. Since I was supposed to have the D&C today, I couldn't really take anything so I had to rely upon natural pain relief methods and distraction.
I was quiet so as not to wake my son, but I asked my husband home around 3:00 because the pain was clearly intensifying and I knew that I could not handle caring for my son while trying to handle this event. I tried to remember to stay hydrated with water and even ate an egg sandwich that my husband thoughtfully prepared for me when he arrived home.
Things were fine, relatively speaking, until around 4:00 or so. That's when I began to dry-heave and felt like I might have diarrhea. I contacted my OB around 4:40 and he responded to my message within five minutes. I think he's the best physician I have ever had; he's certainly the kindest and most responsive. He indicated that everything sounded normal, but that I should feel free to take Tylenol or the Norco, which is Vicodin w/ Tylenol (weird name, huh?), that I picked up at the pharmacy the day before.
Those of you who know me surely know that I do not take pills for no reason. I think there is some value in letting pain run it's course. I was trying every single suggestion for natural pain relief and I can say that distraction only goes so far. I first found myself whimpering through the cramping and, as they intensified, I ended up moaning into my pillow while trying to relax.
I took one Norco at 5:00 and it afforded me about 90 minutes of reasonable pain relief. It did not remove the pain by any stretch, but it did make it somewhat more bearable for a period of time. There reached a point where all I could think about was the pain and when it would hit again. The contractions (if you will) brought me to my knees if I was standing or made me writhe around on my bed if I was lying down. I figured this was normal and tried to muster on.
Then I began violently shaking and vomiting. That was followed by cold sweats and then hot sweats. I wasn't merely trembling, I was SHAKING. I was shaking so badly that I could no longer stand or sit up on my own. I became lightheaded and the room began spinning more than once. I've never fainted before and I suppose this is when I began to feel frightened that something was really going wrong with this miscarriage.
I screamed out for my husband to help me. I felt like my insides were trying to get to the outside and I was sitting on the toilet to hasten the process. Besides a tremendous amount of vomit, nothing happened. Nothing. There was some sticky, almost mucousy, blood and several small clots. That was it.
I suddenly felt better wondered aloud if it was over. My husband looked and reported that there was nothing in the toilet. My reprieve lasted probably less than a minute and I became violently ill all over again. There was nothing in my digestive system at this point, but I continued to vomit up stomach acid that burned all the way out my throat and even out through my nose. I started crying and begging for help.
My husband wanted to drive me to the hospital, but I could not handle the idea of the drive (even though it's like 3 miles from our house) or the eons-long wait to be treated. He suggested an ambulance and I brushed off the idea. He continued to carry/drag me back and forth from the bed to the toilet.
The only thing that appeared to be happening was that I began to freak out more and more with each contraction. I thought that I was only moaning through the pain, but my husband told me later that I was crying out loudly enough (screaming really) that I frightened our son. I regret that I couldn't keep better control and that I caused my little boy so much distress. I had no idea that I was having such a massive freak-out and wish now that I'd gone to the hospital when my husband first suggested the idea.
It finally got so bad that we called an ambulance (waaah-mbulance was more like it) to take me to the hospital. I think I had every single awful and uncomfortable symptom: back pain, major contracting, vomiting, diarrhea, cold sweats, hot sweats, weakness, lightheadedness, hyperventilation - basically if it's gross or sucky, it happened. The paramedics (I learned later that the FD showed up too) were at my house in what seemed like only a minute. My blood pressure was high and I was over-oxygenated because I had apparently been hyperventilating for an extended period of time.
They were all incredibly helpful, but the paramedic who looked like Dr. Drew was really helpful at getting me to calm the heck down. He must have repeated that my panic was only serving to increase the pain at least 1,001 times. When my eyes wildly darted around, he'd remind me to look at him and take low and slow breaths. When I'd clench up, he'd remind me to take control of my body and try to relax. When I began crying about the pain, he'd ask me to tell him about the happiest place I've been. No, the happiest place on Earth wasn't Disneyland. It was a quiet beach on Kauai and I kept trying to visualize a palm tree.
I lost my pants at some point so I was wheeled out of my house wearing a blanket from the ambulance. I'm not ashamed of my body, but I would have misgivings about six strange men seeing me nude from the waist down with my legs flailing this way and that. As I memorably said on one occasion, I just wouldn't do split beaver shots these days. You know, I did not care about modesty at that point. I remained unconcerned about my lack of clothing until I was getting ready to be discharged from the hospital.
So they took me to the ER and, I guess since I arrived in an ambulance, I jumped the line of people in the waiting room. Hubs told me the waiting room was PACKED when he got there so I'm thankful that I didn't have to wait for treatment. I don't know what that privilege is going to cost, but that's one bill I will happily pay without complaint because it was worth it. Okay, okay, my husband will happily pay it!
I was immediately ushered into a private ER room and I was surrounded by nurses and a doctor. They inexplicably changed out the IV that I was given in the ambulance (why, I have no idea?), but I was happy they did so since they also began to administer IV pain meds.
I'll point out again that I do not usually bother with taking any medication for pain. Hubby thinks it's because I'm being a martyr, but whatever. The first hit of IV drugs did nothing to ease my pain. They followed up with another dose around ten minutes later. Between that and the Benadryl to help me sleep (as if, right?) I definitely felt my pain and anxiety ease up a bit. Hubby tells me that I got high as a kite and was totally loopy from that point on.
The ER doctor performed a pelvic exam and, unbelievably, my baby still wasn't coming out. I thought for sure it was nearly over, but it wasn't even close. He sent a gynecologist down and she verified that this was nowhere near completion so she slated me to get a D&C. Even though I'd vomited out my stomach contents, I had to wait for six hours to pass since I'd eaten the dang egg sandwich.
Here's a funny side note because you know I have to find something funny in all of this. I was totally inappropriate with the gynecologist and my hubby tells me that I was practically flirting with her. I kept complimenting her pretty blue eyes and going on & on about how lovely I found her eyes. I'm sure that ER staff appreciates when a kind and appreciative patient comes through instead of a bitchy and belligerent one, but damn I'm a weirdo! Alternately, reasons like these are why I don't take drugs! haha
The doubly funny thing is that I'm not even particularly fond of blue eyes, but show me a set of baby browns and I'm all over it. Yes, I'm aware that my hubs has green eyes. What can I say? Eyes just don't matter that much in the grand scheme of things, do they?
I ultimately ended up with at least four (but I think the final tally was six) doses of IV pain meds, but I STILL FELT THE DAMN CONTRACTIONS! They were nowhere near as painful, but I still felt them and there was still slight pain associated with them. I guess they were pretty strong or I'm just a big puss. Maybe a little of both.
I finally passed out before going to the OR. I hadn't even been hit with the general anaesthesia yet. I woke up in recovery and asked when I could expect to have the procedure. They nurses told me it was already over and everything went perfectly fine. I couldn't believe it. I had a complete absence of pain - emotionally and physically. It was the easiest recovery from general that I've ever had and I credit the recovery nurses for keeping me calm and focused. After reflecting on it a little, this is also the first time that I went under while still wearing my contacts so I actually could see my surroundings when I came to. Perhaps that helped keep my anxiety at bay too.
There was talk that they might keep me overnight for observation. I wasn't too keen on that idea once my husband told me how upset our son was before I left and after I was gone. I really wanted to be here when he woke up in the morning so he could see that I was okay and everything was going to be okay. I'm thankful that I didn't lose much in the way of blood and was able to urinate easily once I was permitted to consume liquids so they determined that I could go home. As always, it's a hurry up and wait game to get discharged from a hospital. I arrived back home at around 3:00 am.
So how am I doing? I'm doing good. And that's not just trying to be positive; I really am okay. I went through a lot of emotional pain just waiting for it to happen and, once I had the lack of heartbeat confirmed over and over again, I felt a sense of peace for the first time since I learned of my baby's death. Oddly enough, I feel perfectly fine from a physical and emotional standpoint for the first time in nearly three-weeks.
The playground is shut down for six-weeks, I can't drive for two weeks (WTF?!), and I have a bunch of lifting and rest restrictions, but I feel so damn good right now physically and emotionally that I can't get too worked up about it. I guess I'm finally ready to accept/acknowledge what has happened and begin the healing process of this grief journey.
I went to a damn dark place once the pain meds kicked it at the ER and hubs tells me that I told him I was sure I was dying. I thought it at the house, but certainly wasn't going to verbalize it and jinx myself. I even told him that I wanted him to find a good wife and mother for our son. He told me to stop it and I guess I replied that that's just what I do. Uh, what exactly did I mean? Brood about death? That's creepy!
I also clearly informed him that I will never, never, never take the wait and see approach again. The emotional cost was too high and I simply couldn't pay the physical price. Additionally, I let him know that labor pains (if they can even be called that this early on) were immensely over-rated. Everyone thinks they're a comedian when they're a little loaded, eh?
Thank you all for your thoughts, prayers, and well-wishes. It was, simply put, the single most frightening and painful thing that I've ever experienced. I've had four impacted wisdom teeth removed at once and I've had a c-section that left me feeling like I was hit by a bus, but those were NOTHING compared to how much I was suffering before I finally went to the hospital and received treatment. Thank goodness for modern medicine!
Thursday, December 16, 2010
"Nice Beaver" and Other Compliments
I spent extra time on personal landscaping earlier this week because I knew that my OB was going to paw around between my legs. My husband thinks it's funny that I prep my privates before these types of appointments, but surely I'm not the only woman who does so. Am I?
Though I made sure that everything looked neat & tidy down there, my doctor didn't make a single comment. Is it bizarre that I'm a little miffed that he didn't mention how nice I looked in that area? True, I'd feel somewhat uncomfortable if he had looked up there and declared, "Nice beaver," but I am a bit bothered that he didn't even seem to notice my efforts. Of course, I probably wouldn't notice an exceptional vagina either if I spent my days with my hands up in the Y.
My husband already felt awkward watching another man get to third base with me so I can't imagine what he'd say or do if the doctor gave compliments on my downstairs. Knowing my husband, he'd probably nod and say, "Yeah, I'm tapping that."
This train of thought got me wondering if anyone has ever received an inappropriate compliment or heard an inappropriate comment from a doctor. Have you? If so, please share below.
Though I made sure that everything looked neat & tidy down there, my doctor didn't make a single comment. Is it bizarre that I'm a little miffed that he didn't mention how nice I looked in that area? True, I'd feel somewhat uncomfortable if he had looked up there and declared, "Nice beaver," but I am a bit bothered that he didn't even seem to notice my efforts. Of course, I probably wouldn't notice an exceptional vagina either if I spent my days with my hands up in the Y.
My husband already felt awkward watching another man get to third base with me so I can't imagine what he'd say or do if the doctor gave compliments on my downstairs. Knowing my husband, he'd probably nod and say, "Yeah, I'm tapping that."
This train of thought got me wondering if anyone has ever received an inappropriate compliment or heard an inappropriate comment from a doctor. Have you? If so, please share below.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Somewhat Good News?
I began spotting again late last night and I e-mailed my OB to inquire about getting an appointment earlier than 12/27 or at least getting some follow up testing to gauge how this pregnancy is progressing. He ordered urinalysis as well as several blood tests, most notably another HCG count. I visited the lab first thing this morning and this is what I know:
My hCG level was at 4,000 late last Sunday evening in the ER. I am considered 6-weeks pregnant today and my HCG level is at 13,000. According to everything I've read on-line, I'm reassured that my numbers are steadily increasing and within a "normal" range for this point of a pregnancy.
However, my OB sent me an e-mail message expressing mild concern at the number and indicated that he will fit me in for an appointment next Tuesday if I'd like one. I'm not sure it's necessary, but I figure that he wouldn't offer to screw up his appointment schedule for no reason so I agreed to come in next Tuesday.
My husband thinks that my doctor is perfectly happy with the test results, but that my doctor has to do and say certain things in order to work within our insurance company's guidelines. Apparently our insurance doesn't schedule a first OB appointment until 8-weeks gestation - unless there is a problem. My husband feels that my OB knows that I'm worried and he wants to get me in to set my mind at ease, but the only way he can get me in is to report that he's concerned about the numbers. Ordinarily, I'd say that there is no merit to this assertion, but this same OB did a similar rule-bending when it came time to deliver my son so there is a possibility that my husband is correct.
I don't know exactly what to think about the situation at this point, but I'm feeling a little better because I think it's somewhat good news from the lab. If you know anything about hCG levels and pregnancy, what do you think?
My hCG level was at 4,000 late last Sunday evening in the ER. I am considered 6-weeks pregnant today and my HCG level is at 13,000. According to everything I've read on-line, I'm reassured that my numbers are steadily increasing and within a "normal" range for this point of a pregnancy.
However, my OB sent me an e-mail message expressing mild concern at the number and indicated that he will fit me in for an appointment next Tuesday if I'd like one. I'm not sure it's necessary, but I figure that he wouldn't offer to screw up his appointment schedule for no reason so I agreed to come in next Tuesday.
My husband thinks that my doctor is perfectly happy with the test results, but that my doctor has to do and say certain things in order to work within our insurance company's guidelines. Apparently our insurance doesn't schedule a first OB appointment until 8-weeks gestation - unless there is a problem. My husband feels that my OB knows that I'm worried and he wants to get me in to set my mind at ease, but the only way he can get me in is to report that he's concerned about the numbers. Ordinarily, I'd say that there is no merit to this assertion, but this same OB did a similar rule-bending when it came time to deliver my son so there is a possibility that my husband is correct.
I don't know exactly what to think about the situation at this point, but I'm feeling a little better because I think it's somewhat good news from the lab. If you know anything about hCG levels and pregnancy, what do you think?
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The Day Started Well
My son was in a great mood from the time he woke up today. Until we visited the pediatrician.
The little one had fun playing with the toys and books in the waiting room. My son flipped out when the medical assistant showed up to take us to the exam room. I guess he hadn't realized where we were until he saw the hallway decorated with safari animals.
My son whimpered when we set him on the scale. He screamed when our friendly medical assistant measured his height. He outright wailed when we removed his clothes so that he could wear an exam gown.
Thanks to my Rain Man-esque ability to memorize and recite Elmo songs, the little one calmed down enough to stop crying. We looked at fun books for a few minutes and I was sure that things were going to be fine. Then the doctor walked in the room.
The howling began afresh. The upside to all his screaming is that the doctor was able to easily look in the kiddo's mouth. The downside is that my toddler shrieked for nearly 30 solid minutes.
The doctor did nothing to hurt my son. He was very patient and gentle. He even gave the little guy a new book to take home. Yet my son spat out a "bye-bye" as he waved the doctor away.
The medical assistant returned and my son went berserk. He screamed and thrashed about so much that he was pink and sweaty. Shots are never all that fun, but I knew that they were going to be worse because he was working himself up so much.
Three shots; two in one leg, one in the other. For being less than thirty pounds, he is sure a strong little guy. It took three adults to administer these shots.
His good attitude returned as soon as we left the doctor's office. He never did nap today, but he ate a hearty dinner and he had fun playing with his new book. Since he is so fond of Elmo, I let him watch two Elmo videos.
Shortly before bedtime, he started limping a little. His left leg, the one that had two shots, was clearly hurting. I took off the bandages and the injection sites look normal.
He seemed perfectly fine, except the limping, but I gave him extra cuddles and snuggles tonight. I really didn't want to put him in his crib because I wanted to keep him close. Since we don't normally co-sleep, I figured that he wouldn't sleep any better in my bed. So I put him in his crib.
As I do every night, I'll look in on him before I turn in for the night. Yes, I still check to see that he's breathing and make sure that he doesn't have anything like bedding or stuffed animals up close to his face - I guess I took all that SIDS prevention info a little too seriously. I'm sure he'll be fine in the morning, but my heart hurt to see him limping tonight.
Of course, I'd feel worse if he ended up with HepA, Hib, or pneumococcal meningitis and I refused the shots. I guess the limping isn't all that bad in comparison.
The little one had fun playing with the toys and books in the waiting room. My son flipped out when the medical assistant showed up to take us to the exam room. I guess he hadn't realized where we were until he saw the hallway decorated with safari animals.
My son whimpered when we set him on the scale. He screamed when our friendly medical assistant measured his height. He outright wailed when we removed his clothes so that he could wear an exam gown.
Thanks to my Rain Man-esque ability to memorize and recite Elmo songs, the little one calmed down enough to stop crying. We looked at fun books for a few minutes and I was sure that things were going to be fine. Then the doctor walked in the room.
The howling began afresh. The upside to all his screaming is that the doctor was able to easily look in the kiddo's mouth. The downside is that my toddler shrieked for nearly 30 solid minutes.
The doctor did nothing to hurt my son. He was very patient and gentle. He even gave the little guy a new book to take home. Yet my son spat out a "bye-bye" as he waved the doctor away.
The medical assistant returned and my son went berserk. He screamed and thrashed about so much that he was pink and sweaty. Shots are never all that fun, but I knew that they were going to be worse because he was working himself up so much.
Three shots; two in one leg, one in the other. For being less than thirty pounds, he is sure a strong little guy. It took three adults to administer these shots.
His good attitude returned as soon as we left the doctor's office. He never did nap today, but he ate a hearty dinner and he had fun playing with his new book. Since he is so fond of Elmo, I let him watch two Elmo videos.
Shortly before bedtime, he started limping a little. His left leg, the one that had two shots, was clearly hurting. I took off the bandages and the injection sites look normal.
He seemed perfectly fine, except the limping, but I gave him extra cuddles and snuggles tonight. I really didn't want to put him in his crib because I wanted to keep him close. Since we don't normally co-sleep, I figured that he wouldn't sleep any better in my bed. So I put him in his crib.
As I do every night, I'll look in on him before I turn in for the night. Yes, I still check to see that he's breathing and make sure that he doesn't have anything like bedding or stuffed animals up close to his face - I guess I took all that SIDS prevention info a little too seriously. I'm sure he'll be fine in the morning, but my heart hurt to see him limping tonight.
Of course, I'd feel worse if he ended up with HepA, Hib, or pneumococcal meningitis and I refused the shots. I guess the limping isn't all that bad in comparison.
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