For some time now I have been having a bit of trouble with the ‘ol lady parts. It started when I started – literally, from the time my lady parts started lady-ing, they have given me nothing but trouble. Headache. Aggravation. Basically, horse shit.
I had an especially hard time with them starting around 2005, when I had my first miscarriage. That was the year I had my first D&C, and then another in 2007. In 2006 I was diagnosed with endometriosis. In 2008, when I started really trying to have a baby, I was diagnosed with PCOS – although I’d actually had that the entire time, likely since around 1995. For the longest time, that was blamed for all my issues.
I was very blessed and in 2009, after a lot of trial and hard stuff (no pun intended), I finally got pregnant. From the day I found out, only 16 DPO, I was in the doctor’s office having ultrasounds and blood work and hormone shots so that I would hopefully not miscarry. I got to see my little flea sized baby before it ever even had a heart beat. How cool is that? #highriskperks When I hadn’t lost him, or even had any complications, by 12 weeks, I was told I could resume care as normal and I went in once a month until I was about 7 months pregnant. Then complications started and I was on bed rest for a minute. He was born at barely 37 weeks – which was amazing to me because I was 3cm dilated at 32 weeks and had to take meds to prevent labor from progressing. As soon as he popped out, the hell my uterus had been saving up for began to pour forth over my life like one of those biblical prophecies about the end of the world. It was awful.
Minutes after he was born, I hemmoraged and almost bled to death. I won. A week and many pints of blood later, I was sent home. A month later I was back in the hospital with a urinary and uterine infection of massive proportions that also almost killed me. I won. A year later, I started having the dreaded cysts and the insane pain that goes with them again, and I was put into that category of very few women who end up with worse periods rather than better ones after delivery.
I’ve dealt with that all this time, taking it in stride and going on about my life, and then about two years ago (apparently) my body decided, “fuck you, lady parts!” and I started going into perimenopause at the ripe age of 35. At 36, I was officially diagnosed as perimenopausal. Yay. Even with the living hell that has been, it does not equal my new diagnosis or the cause of it: Asherman’s syndrome, caused by the D&C’s.
“Bastards!” That’s the first thing I thought when they explained it to me. And then, “as though my uterus and I weren’t having enough trouble getting along already, some dork in a white jacket with trigger happy “scraping tool” finger went and made it worse.” I’ve begged and begged these idiots to just take it all out and be done with it – after all, what difference does it make? I’m done with the lady parts (at least the internal ones). I’ve had my miracle baby. This iffy plumbing is causing me nothing but trouble. And, to top it all off, the hormones are already insane and I’m already (sort of) on HRT. Seriously. WHO THE F CARES!!
The insurance companies. That’s who. I’m too young and not dying of uterus to be approved for a hysterectomy. Fine. Instead, they pay for other ridiculous lady part procedures. In my mind, I win this round, too. For example, today they paid for my uterus to be burned at the stake with a carbon dioxide laser.
Christy one, uterus zero for the year. I will always win, because I don’t want to lose. I’ll chop it out myself if I have to!
To be continued…