The Uterus Soliloquy

See what I did there? It’s like The Vagina Monologues, but with a uterus instead. Oh, how scathingly clever I am!

I finally heard back from my gynecologist today about the ultrasound I had over a week ago.

It’s never a good thing when you answer the phone and the first thing out of her mouth is a heavy sigh and “well…(unnecessarily long pause)…I’m looking at your uterus right now.”

Bonus points for diffusing a tense situation with female reproductive organ humor. I like this women very much.

As I’ve shared previously, I started taking progesterone as apparently, my supply was all jacked up. I was to do this in an effort to help me slough off some of my uterine lining, since I was having such frequent periods (as many as three a month).

The good news: Erin’s Uterus! Now 30% thinner! So, in a word, the progesterone therapy worked.

And like  you can’t have cookies without milk, you can’t have good news without bad.

The fibroid got bigger and I have more cysts on the ovaries.

The current game plan is to start taking birth control pills again to get the hormones on a more even level, but this really won’t effect The ‘Roid, as I’ve taken to calling it, or the cysts. So, kind of back at square one in a sense.

But hey, now I can have sexual intercourse without fear of creating a baby!


There are so many things contradictory and hilarious and sad and depressing about that statement:

1. implying I am sexually active (hilarious/sad/depressing because I am not).

2. Not that I want kids now, but eventually yes, I have to take birth control pills to regulate my hormones in an effort to have kids? But I’m on birth CONTROL, not birth NO control (that’s the contradictory part, by the by).

3. No sex (sorry…can’t get over this one…).

I had someone mention to me today that I should seek a support group for this fibroid/cyst thing.

Uh…why? Grant it, it IS hecka depressing, this whole “can I have kids or can’t I?” business, but support groups aren’t my bag. I tried my hand at AA; you fuckers are not helpful to me. Sitting in a room with a bunch of sorry sacks of sad, lamenting about their woes is not my idea of helpful. It works for some folks, airing their dirty laundry with a group, but it just seems like fishing for sympathy to me, and that’s annoying as shit. “You think your story is sad? Well, take a listen to MINE.” No thanks.

I apologize for being somewhat distracted this evening. Well, I guess I’m apologizing to myself because you people would have had no clue if I hadn’t mentioned I was distracted in the first place, but I digress. Anyway–sorry for the distraction. I’m going to keep watching Lord of the Rings and nom on some popcorn because I’m single and this is how I spend my evenings being single. Because I’m single. And did I mention I’m single? Because I’m single.

Good night, all.

Hello. Happy Halloween.

That’s all I have for today. Thank you, good night!






Psyche. Oh MAN, what a Halloween trick that was!

So, I had my second ultrasound today for my ongoing issues in the uterus/ovary department. I took my week worth of progesterone, turned into a raving bitch-o-saurus and had sore boobs and waswicked, wicked tired. I don’t understand how something your body produces naturally can mess with you so badly. That seriously sucked.

This ultrasound had me tweaking out hardcore for some reason. I don’t know why, considering I know that I’m not right, but still. I was afraid I was going to be told the mass living inside me had gotten bigger, or that they wanted to do a biopsy because maybe it isn’t a fibroid after all and might be the Big C.

I’m very good awfulizing things and making something out of nothing. It’s a gift, what can I say.

And this technician today was a proper older woman, which I think I preferred the younger gal I had a month ago. She was talkative and even though she didn’t have the greatest bedside manner, freaking me out, at least she talked to me and let me know shit wasn’t proper, whereas this lady was prim and quiet and if you ask me, spent a little too much time with her wand in my va-jayski. The other gal was, pardon the pun, in and out (aw…just like sex with my ex-husband), but this one was more methodical and took her time and she didn’t say anything to me except, “okay, sit on the table and slide your butt to the edge and put your feet in the stirrups.”

And to make matters worse, they were playing the WORST music overhead. I know Michael Bolton is supposed to be a great baby making musician, but to have to listen to him croon about when a man loves a woman as another woman is shoving an ultrasound wand inside my body was just too fucking funny to me. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Sweet Jesus.

And then there’s the ongoing issue of realizing what makes me a woman is failing me. I know I discussed this in my last post, but it’s a hard feeling to shake. What’s pissing me off the most is knowing there are women out there having babies when they shouldn’t be, meaning the crackwhores and other unsavory types. They can have kids and what about me? Grant it, I’m not in a position to have children yet. You kind of need a willing participant to help aid in the baby makin’…unless imaculate conception is in my future, which holy crap. No thanks. I don’t need that kind of pressure. Congratulations, you’ve been chosen as the next contestant in “My Baby Is The Next Son of Man!”

Life can be such a cunt sometimes. Honestly. I guess the key to getting through the cunt-y-ness of life is to not let shit like this get to you, but I know from past experiences how fucking difficult that is. I’m not one to hold a grudge as that’s a pointless thing to do, but some things tend to leave a mark on you long after they’re gone.

How poetic of me. Ew. IT BURNS US!!

Anyway, so, lamenting about the defective uterus blah blah blah. I’m kind of over it now. I mean, I’m not, but I am. No use crying over spilt…uterus.

Gross. I’m sorry, that was just awful.

Okay, well, I will be back filling you all in on my uterine escapades. Toodles for now.