Suzanna Danna

Well, I guess I should actually call this, “My issues, let us discuss them.” Alrighty. Here we go. Annnny moment now. Okay... GO.

I have to work myself up for this... because. Well, because I am sad. I would rather be writing tawdry stories about stuff I did back when I was hot and invincible (and incredibly stupid, naïve and irresponsible), but nooooooo... Reality. She is a bitch.

I’ll get back to the fun stuff later. I still owe you guys a circus story. And how Jay took me home to meet his family (?) and other such nonsense.

But now? Okay, here we go. Do you guys remember back in this ranty entry and the two entries that followed? Yes? I have conveniently added links for you if you would like to refresh your memory. If not. It goes like this. Don’t want to have babies, you can’t make me... want to have procedure done to prevent pregnancy, am sick of hormones, procedure doesn’t work... woe.

From the top part of this entry... after... AFTER (!) all of that mess from the links above:

At the consultation my issue de jour was, “Um... you know how you guys burned off the lining to my uterus? Well, see, here’s the issue, I have a Super Uterus and it regenerates. I have been having my cycle since last year about August-ish. What can we do to shut ‘er down? I wanted a tubal ligation and a side order of ablation to cut off the babymakin at the pass, see? And all I got was a lousy hospital bill and a regenerating uterus.”
I was nicer and probably a bit more eloquent than that, but y’all get the point.
[Gyno Guy] scheduled me for another “procedure” for 3/28/08 and he was pretty cool about it even when he said, “I can’t promise that this will work. From your HSG it looks like there is no blockage, so it should be okay, but if it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out.”
This SO better work.

So... you are up to speed, yes? Good.

Well, yeah. Guess what didn’t work?

And now? If you just mention the word menstruation around me I have a period. And if I get like 80 comments with just the word “Menstruation” I am going to pout and then.... I am going to type up long rambling entries about my dreams. Fair warning, deal?

I have been spotting since the 28th and I am starting to get pissed. Not only was Gyno Guy unsuccessful in his attempts to render me barren but now I have to worry about what panties I wear... all the time.

Also? ALSO? (Very caps locky... bear with me.) The first time when Gyno Guy couldn’t do the tubal ligation he had Mister tell me the surgery was unsuccessful. On the 28th? Yep, it was my dear sweet husband who was the one to tell me that the procedure was a failure when I came out of the twilight anesthesia.

By the way, that shit? The twilight anesthesia... Rocks. No vomiting. Just knocked out... annnnnd we’re back.

Do y’all know what it is like to have had this little termite thought in the back of your mind since you lost your virginity saying, “What if you get pregnant?!? OMG, WHAT IFFFFFFF!?” Just back there chewing away at your relaxation, your warmth, your sexuality!? I will say this one more time. Getting pregnant (tubal... May 1997... resulting in c-section, for those of you who don’t follow links) when I was on two forms of birth control and having several “scares” before and after that happened will really fuck with you.

I am a 35 year old happily married woman. I have healthy desires and appetites (as most of you know from my stories and because I talk like a sailor)... but think about it in this context; you really want a steak. A big juicy perfectly cooked (medium rare) steak. You have been denying yourself said steak because of your... cholesterol or because you are Ramen noodle poor or because you have a guilty conscience because it is a cow or whatthefuckever. But... BUT, you finally are served a steak. The exact one you have been dreaming about. You start eating the steak. Mmmmmmm good. Good steak. Love the steak, want more steak (harder, faster... shut up) and then the little thought pops up like a maggot in your perfectly cooked steak.

What would that do for your appetite? Hmmm?

I would like maggot free steak please.

Or to be a little bit more... oh, hey, can you hand me that stick? I need to beat this dead horse... relaxed, a little less skreechy (in my head... because in person I am not this much of a harpy... or I would like to think), a little more spontaneous, a little less “Wait! What about the full body condoms, the spermicidal jelly, the sponge, the IUD and for God’s sake, PULL OUT!”*, and definitely more able to enjoy the fruits of my labor... if you know what I mean. And I think you do**.

*Ah, memories of high school***. How sweet.
**Mangos
***And my first marriage.****
****That boy was a certifiable dirty leg.

Enough. You know too much. I must keel you.

///////

Edited To Add @ 8:23 p.m.

To clarify for my darling Melinda… and for sweet Sil who called my cell a few short moments ago all sorts of confused…

The Essure procedure (where they implant little metal coils into your tubes – your body is (in theory) supposed to scar over the coils thereby rendering your tubes impassable… ergo no eggs delivered to the uterus) is what I was supposed to have done on the 28th of March.

When Gyno Guy got in there to take a look around he found that everything was ablated. Scarred over, he couldn’t even find my lil tubes.

Next step? Another HSG to find out if the tubes are open… they were last April. Now? I dunno.

Again, woe.

Sorry I didn’t make myself clear earlier, I thought you guys could read minds.