IUDizzy

Who would have thought that me, who's about as sexually active as dry toast, would have to go on birth control? Sadly, it's not because I decided to have some type of a Hot Girl Winter as I skid on the banana peel toward middle age. Long story short, I have a condition and getting an IUD was the best way to treat it. Sigh. As if Frank, my ever-so-loving name for my vagina, hasn't been through enough. Now I have some contraption inside of me to keep things under control. And yes, my vagina has a man's name, obviously because it has given me nothing but trouble. Not to mention the bad haircut. 

Over the years, I have heard my fair share of birth control nightmare stories. You know the greatest hits. "Birth control gave me blood clots." "Birth control made me fat." "The morning-after pill didn't work for me." "My IUD dislodged and I got pregnant anyway." "The pill gave me a beard." "I missed one Depo-Provera shot and woke up with a penis." 

When I expressed my concern about getting an IUD to my gyno team, they shut me down pretty quickly. 

"No, no, we are doing this," the main doctor said. 

"But I have done online research-" I began. 

"Every doctor on my team has an IUD. I had one when I was young enough to have children."

"What if Donald Trump makes birth control illegal and comes to get it?" I cried. My anxiety was sky high, and I had heard rumblings about how The Donald was coming for contraception since that whole abortion thing was such a slam dunk. 

"He can't," they all said in unison. But I was not convinced. 

"Listen, there are a bunch of women happy with their IUDs that are not writing Yelp reviews," one of the student doctors said. Maybe so. 

About a month later, I have to say that it is clear that there is something inside of me. It's uncomfortable sometimes. I just move pretty slowly. I don't want to piss it off. 

At night, I imagine that it pops out of place and does a soft shoe on my stomach. Then it moonwalks across my kidneys and does the cabbage patch on my liver. I wake up right before it goes to my heart to poke holes in it. 

I guess I am not that great of a patient. I don't even know how long I am supposed to keep this thing in. I am assuming it is somewhere between three months and forever. Or until it gets carried away in my sleep, doing the Wobble in my throat before I wake up and throw it up. Honestly, I am preparing for things to go either way. 

The Case of the 40s

I don't know where I thought I was going to be at 40 years old, but I'm positive it's not here. And by here, of course, I mean nowhere doing nothing. 

When I was in my early - mid 20s, I used to throw myself hotel room birthday parties. I was so excited about them! I got such a kick out of planning them and figuring out what I was going to wear. If I could go back in time, I would tell myself to live it up, because sugar would go to sh*t, literally for the next 15 years. 

The other day, I had a dream that I was panicked, planning for a party at a big mansion. I was running around trying to get food and drinks for my guests, and I hired Kid Rock to do the photography and videography. I used to love him in high school. Not so much now. I think that we can agree that he's a little different now. Anywho, I woke up and figured that the dream was telling me that I wanted to have a birthday party for my 40th. 

On social media, I have seen my friends celebrate their 40ths in a whole bunch of fun and cute ways. International trips. Girls nights. Cruises. Family fun days. Spa weekends. Elaborate dinners. You name it! The last time I attempted to throw a movie night for my birthday, I invited a whole bunch of folks and only one person showed up. Luckily, it was one of my good friends. We drank sparkling apple juice and talked over tacos. It was a nice night, but a painful reminder that my friends either don't like me or don't give a crap. I would like to have a party because it would be nice to be excited about something, but if no one showed, I'd be crushed and disappointed, and I can't risk that. I am already crushed and disappointed, just living day-to-day. 

Right now, I am leaning towards getting an AirBnB for a weekend, turning out all the lights, and laying face first into a bed pillow, groaning. That may sound depressing, but it is actually one of my favorite things to do. I will keep you posted on my plans, or lack thereof. 

Mommy

I've been missing my mommy of late. I always miss her, but lately, I have been longing to talk to her so badly. 

Oddly enough, talking to her when she was alive could irritate me like no other. She was always giving me unasked for advice which drove me up the wall! But I was also just getting to know her. We butted heads my whole childhood because I didn't like her mooching leech of a boyfriend. As a young adult, I no longer had to see her deal with him, which left room for us to acquaint ourselves with each other. Now she's gone and I find myself needing to talk to her.

If she had not been cremated, I'd totally be advocating for a Pet Cemetery situation just so we could chat before she'd try to kill me. In this case, I'm sad this is not a scene from a Stephen King fantasy. I no longer wish to be sad. Time for bed. 

Youth pt. 2

It feels like me and the women in my life turned 39, the universe was alerted, and she sent us an array of crap. The whole thing has me thinking about the meaning of youth. 

As you know, 39 brought me endometrial polyps I had to have plucked out. That was emotional and incredibly stressful for a woman whose anxiety is already so naturally high that I could shoot to the moon on it. A college friend told me that she has already had her mammogram, something that should be set for next year, because our good friend's wife was diagnosed with breast cancer at 39. 

For some of my other girlfriends, the race to have a baby has never been so real, especially for my uncoupled friends that have to weigh waiting for a man with getting a donor. Today, my 39-year-old doctor friend died in hospice care from a disease she wasn't even old enough to get screened for! 

Is the universe trying to tell me and my soon-to-be middle-aged friends to cherish life and your health because you never know what trick life is going to pull out of its hat? Okay! Message received. Now can you please keep all my girls well and alive?

It doesn't work like that. 

When I was a kid, I'd hear my grandma on the phone giving and receiving updates on sick friends and friends who had passed. The whole thing would go over my head, now it's at my feet. For lack of a better word, it's scary. 

Is this to be life from now on? Scared for my wellbeing and that of those I love? I guess this is yet another disgusting part of adulting. My grandma would tell me to pray. I think I will. 

Youth

When you are young, people will tell you, "Do it while you are young." " Enjoy it while you're young". And the people who really know what they are talking about will tell you, "You are only young once" because that is, truly, the long and short of it. But no one will tell you that you are thinking all wrong, as if your youth has an expiration date. 21 you are young. 41 you are not.

Every now and then someone you view as truly ancient will tell you that you are only as young as you feel. Okay. But you are also only as young as you are, and all of these things have to coexist in you as truth as you move and love and do what you do. I am learning what I find it hard to articulate to others: youth is not something you have but more like a shadow that moves with you. And just like a man that don't want you no more, she will begin to spiritually withdraw until the coast is clear to jump ship completely. And one day you wake up honey and you are you, minus that special something that excused you, that ran your operations system, that set your goal calendar. You are now a new you that you may or may not welcome, and no one, not even women, prepares women for this. 

One day, you are expected to just take out your First Aid kit and begin to treat the wounds youth left behind and begin to transition to the mature you, the senior you, that respects money, takes vitamins, and gives a sh%t! And don't be that old person who is haunted by youth traumas like financial stuff and love ailments. Life has time for you like it has time for itself, and you go from a work in progress to a relic that hurts people's eyes. No one wants to see you until there is something to see. And to think, just 20 years ago, you were dancing on a table someplace. You will remember these times until you die with pristine precision, which is both beautiful and cruel. What we are talking about here is the equivalent of catching a firefly in your hands. The bulb is flickering. The end. 

The Chase

With all the health stuff I have been dealing with, I have found myself reaching out to my friends for support. And the truth of the matter is, some of them are not interested in being present. It just is what it is. Yet, on the other hand, my church family has been consistent, checking in on me and sending me prayers and well wishes. So, the other night while I sat in the dark groaning, I asked myself why I am chasing friends that aren't interested when there are people proving that they want to be a part of my life? Why is my default always trying to cling to the unavailable? Talk about trauma and damage! These and other questions to be answered as I try to navigate life. Stay tuned.

Hysterectomy/Mysterectomy

I called the doctor's office as soon as I got an alert that my test results came back from my biopsy. I don't even think that they were aware that they had come in yet. I was really high strung, seeing that I am not a medical professional and had just been forwarded a couple of pages of things that might as well have been written in Spanish. The doctor went over my results with me, it was good news, but an eye now has to be kept on my jay-jay. He said later on, if there is still an issue, I may have to get a hysterectomy. Of course, this sent me into a spiral. 

In the past, I have said that I wanted one because I could not deal with the stress of worrying about my lady parts. But when I heard the doctor say that word out of his mouth, I lost it. And unbelievably, I was not worried about my body or possibly having to have another surgery. I was not even worried about my ability to have kids, for I have never wanted to be a mom. What I was worried about (embarrassingly) is if a man would want me with half of my plumbing gone. This would make me an old lady! Would I even still be a girl? Would this make my insides feel like razor blades and bottle caps?

Child, do you know what is even more stressful than worrying about your 'gina? Worrying about a man and what men want and never having one and blah, blah, blah. Along time ago, I figured that I was fat and that finding a man that would really, truly love me may be a long shot. And as much as I would like to be partnered, I thought that I was clear with myself about how my 50/50 chance was more like slim to none. Yet, when he said the 'h' word, everything came bubbling up to the surface and guys, I was so, so sad. I have had a minute to sit with this. Now I am mad. 

I am mad that at almost 40 I have not been able to shake off this "What about men?" mentality. It's like a second skin! Whether I want to admit it or not, my whole life has been a serious of failed attempts to paint the peacock to get a guy's attention which is a real waste! I could have spent that time with loved ones, doing something I really enjoy. Or spent that time getting preventative vaginal exams! The other day, I was talking to a doctor about my health, and all I could think about was this hypothetical, may never arrive man. 

I know. Pathetic.