Blood and Urine

Whew! I am back and ready to talk more about bodily fluids!

 

You guys may be asking yourself what I have been doing for the past month and a half. Well… I finished my novel. Like, finished finished. I turned 31. I got a new job. I made some jewelry. I found some new blogs to creep on that fill me with feminist rage. In short, I’ve been busy.

 

Incidentally, if anyone wants to read my novel and give me feedback please email me. I would appreciate it.

 

And now, to the story!

 

When I was a kid, I shared a room with my sister J. But when I was even younger, like 7ish, I shared a room with J and my brother T. Actually, J and I shared a bed. And a pillow. That’s right, I did not even have my own pillow.

 

One night while we were sleeping (I always made her sleep on the inside because I am a bit claustrophobic) I had a lovely dream. I dreamt I was on the toilet, urinating.

 

Unfortunately, when I woke up, I found that I had peed the bed. The downside of sharing a bed with someone is that if they pee the bed then you get peed on. And J got peed on. A lot. She still reminds me of it sometimes. I imagine it wasn’t as funny to her as it was to me.

 

We had to change the sheets. And mattress pad. And take a bath. All in the middle of the night.

 

I have not peed the bed, or myself ever since.

 

Until recently. Because I had the Essure procedure last year I have noticed a weakening of my pelvic floor. It is actually very common as women age and especially after giving birth. But mine started a few months after my procedure.

 

Image result for essure springs

The springs all up in my tubes

Basically what happens is that when I have to urinate, it is an emergency. I don’t notice needing to go more frequently, just more urgently.

 

I have had a few close calls where I barely made it to the bathroom on time. And maybe a few times where a few drops came out on the bathroom floor instead of into the toilet bowl. (I know I am coming back strong and with my typical class).

 

Today I was on my period. And for some reason, using my Diva Cup tends to put pressure on my bladder, which does make me have to go more frequently. These two things were the perfect combination for disaster.

 

Image result for diva cup

The cup all up in my vaginal canal

I was sitting on the couch, rewatching Supernatural and minding my own business. I suddenly felt a warm wetness in my underwear. I actually thought my Diva Cup had overflowed and was leaking out into my underwear. It happens sometimes during heavy flow days.

 

I pulled my underwear down to check and saw that I was peeing. I didn’t even feel like I had to go. But there I was, actually peeing myself.

 

I ran to the bathroom. I left a trail of urine like Hansel and Gretel through the forest. Only that wasn’t a trail any woodland creatures would want to follow.

Image result for hansel and gretel breadcrumb trail

Only with urine.

I took a shower and wiped the urine up off my floors. Thankfully they are fake wood and not carpet. I fucking hate carpet, but that is a rant for another time.
Unfortunately,  I had also peed all over my couch. So I cleaned it as best as I could and am now sitting on a towel. Like a sick cat. (Thanks to Debbie for that hilarious phrase.)

That “V” Word

I can’t believe how long it has been since I have written a post about my vagina. Not to worry, I am not out of vagina stories. Here’s one now:

 

You guys may recall that I had my Essure procedure done last May. That was a crazy hectic time in my life that involved court hearings and being homeless for 4 months (which is another story I haven’t told but will get to eventually).

Two of these are in my Fallopian tubes.

Basically, the one thing I really needed was some time off (and a place to live and money and not having a shitty abusive ex stalking me). I went to my boss. He only vaguely knew any of the anything that was happening in my life.

 

I mentioned that I was having the Essure procedure and would need a few days off for recovery. His response was that I was going to regret it. And that if I didn’t want to have kids then I just shouldn’t have sex. Like, ever, I guess.

Sperms on billboards. Sexy stuff.

Naturally we agreed to disagree and he said I could have the time off. Like I said, I tend to not get too involved with personal discussions.

 

A few days before the procedure I went into his office. We were discussing some sensitive work related things, so I closed the door to his office. Per my usual.

 

Once we had wrapped up the work talk I reminded him that I would be out the following week for my procedure.

 

I should remind you all that I am the only woman at my office. And everyone tends to tiptoe around me depending on the subject matter. Especially ‘gross lady body things.’ Because women’s bodies are apparently repulsive to some men.

My boss had forgotten I was going to be out so he entered in my vacation time. And then he asked the question:

 

“So, where do they go in for this procedure?”

 

I looked at him for a few beats. I was really confused. I said “Um…Well… my vagina?” I didn’t know how else to say it.

 

My boss freaked out when I said vagina. He began stuttering. “Oh! I am so sorry! I didn’t mean… I just thought..”

 

So then I asked the natural question. “Where did you think they went in?”

 

“I don’t know. Your neck?” He had his hands up as if to ward off the dreaded ‘v word.’

 

Now I was even more confused. “My neck? How could they go in through my neck? I know you know how female anatomy works. You have a wife and four daughters.”

“Tee of Life” shirt. This is what happens when you look up necks and vaginas. How weird am I for kind of wanting this?

He jumped up out of his chair. “I forgot you were having this surgery. I thought it was for your shoulder or something.”

 

“Well, it isn’t.  It’s for my vagina.” I couldn’t believe how many times I was saying vagina to my boss.

 

And neither could he. He practically ran to open his door so we weren’t alone, with the door shut, talking about my vagina.

 

He then told me, “Please get out of my office. I can’t even look at you right now. You could have said it was personal or something.”

 

“It isn’t personal. Half the population of the world has a vagina. I’m not embarrassed of it. You asked a question and I answered it.”

 

“Please don’t in the future.”

 

I left his office and went into mine. I didn’t even bother to close the door before I laughed and laughed until I couldn’t breathe and my stomach hurt. Sorry to all the men out there that can’t handle vaginas.

 

We have to see your penises all the time. And see commercials on TV with our parents for drugs to help you guys get erections. And get unwanted dick pics. And see teenage boys draw penises on EVERYTHING. And you can’t handle me saying the word vagina.

20140617_200931

Except this. I found this at a local bar and whoever drew it needs to come forward so I can buy them a fucking drink.

A few minutes later I was telling this story to another co-worker so we could laugh about it when my boss walked up. He put his hand over his eyes so he didn’t have to look at me.

Mustn’t make eye contact with vagina woman!

“You know,” I said. “I used the medical term for that body part. And I almost didn’t. I don’t know what the issue is here. It would be like me saying my phalanges or my gluteus maximus. It’s work appropriate.”

 

I still stand by that. I only told a few work people about this story. People that can handle knowing that I actually have a vagina.


We still bring it up to my boss sometimes to make fun of him. And whenever I tell him I have a doctor’s appointment for any reason, he stops me from giving him any details about it. He apparently doesn’t want to hear about my vagina as much as you guys do.

May Search Terms

I’ve been away from the internet for a little while. I’ve been really busy trying to get my work finished so I could enjoy my vacation. Also, I’ve been making necklaces like crazy.

 

I’m going to Seattle tomorrow for a week to visit my sister, J. I could not be more excited! We are also spending a day in Portland. I may blog while I am up there, but probably not. Don’t worry, I will have lots of pictures and stories to tell when I return.

 

But for now, let’s look at my search terms for the month. One thing May has taught me is that there are a lot of sick perverts on the internet and Google apparently thinks I am one of them. There was a horrifyingly obscene amount of porn searches and most of them involve incest or bestiality. So much porn… *shudder*

Welp… moving right along:

 

Sexy cartoons: I’m impressed that more than 30 people were looking for that last month. More than one a day!

Giant rat Venice, Florida: I am really concerned about this giant rat.

The state of Florida facts: I hope you used my facts on a school report.

Strange plastic owls hanging everywhere?: I am really confused by this as I have never even mentioned my brother’s weirdo owl collection. Until now.

Handsome hairy men: There were several variations on this theme. I get it, ladies and gay men.

the weird anal of hell: I don’t know what this means, but I love it! That should be the name of a book.

slime monsters: Uh, what?

shamanic goat skull: Oh, I love you Google for directing that my way.

house sitting nightmare: The phone calls are coming from inside the house!

wound smells like rotten potato: You’re fucked!

cross stitch, if I had known how long this would take: Hahaha! Yeah, that shit takes forever.

can you masturbate after getting essure??: I like the double question marks. Like you urgently needed the answer.

what do you call a person who fucks stuffed animals and dolls: Plushophilia. You’re welcome.

why am I shaking and laughing so much: Hopefully it’s from reading my blog. Though you may have kuru. Have you been eating any human spinal cords lately?

nude men dressed as pirates on cycle: You know, I would actually like to see that too.

sexy rotten co-worker videos: I don’t know if anything rotten is sexy.

fucking throat has been sore for two weeks: Mine is at 4 weeks now. I’m probably going to die.

older sis and I used to get naked when we were home alone: Uh, no we didn’t. I have four older sisters and none of them ever got naked with me.

nude butt fucking stuffed animal: See plushophilia.

I used to do evil things to my sister’s barbies: What kind of evil? Like Santeria ritual sacrifice?

 

 

I have so many more. But I am actually too weirded out by some of the sex stuff to post it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Child free

When I was four or five my oldest sister had a Cabbage Patch doll. One day, my family went to the zoo. For some unfathomable reason I wanted to take my sister’s Cabbage Patch doll with me. I don’t particularly like dolls, but I must have thrown a serious fit. Because my mother made my sister let me take it.

Dolls really are creepy.

Dolls really are creepy.

The doll had a cute little outfit with red rubber shoes and a full size doll stroller. I lugged this damn thing around the zoo all day. It was the biggest pain in the ass. Trying to keep track of the doll. Making sure it didn’t get stolen. Fucking with the stroller in the tight spaces.

I was terrified of my older sister. She was 10 years older. She was beautiful, and mean, and cold, and other-wordly. She was like a volatile goddess. We don’t speak anymore. But this is how I still imagine her. And her doll was not being damaged on my watch.

High school photo of my sister.

High school photo of my sister.

At one point during the day, I noticed that the doll’s shoe had fallen off somewhere. This launched me into an anxiety ridden panic. I retraced my every step till I found it.

I was miserable the whole day. I didn’t enjoy my experience at the zoo. I actually hate zoos now, for unrelated reasons. I had spent the whole day worried about this fucking doll.

And then I looked around me, at all these women, with babies in strollers. And I realized, this was their life. My experience at the zoo was the life of having a child. I would never enjoy anything I did ever again once I had children. I would be a slave to the anxiety and worry. And not only that; but a child would have it’s own will. It would go out of it’s way to be intrusive and obnoxious.

I thought all of those things, at 5 years old. And I vowed, right then and there, to never have children.

For the past 24 years people have told me that I would change my mind. ‘Once I had a boyfriend. Once I got married. Once I was 18. Once I was 25. Once I was 30.’ I have never wavered. I have only become more and more convinced that children are not right for me.

Let me say here: I love children. I love my nieces and nephews. I love my friends’ children. Children like me too. But having children is NOT the right choice, FOR ME.

I began trying to to get my tubes tied when I was 18. Every year I go to a new OB/GYN and every year they refuse. Once I started having heart issues my cardiologist told me I should never have children as it would probably kill me. I told him that I was way ahead of him.

Then I found my current OB/GYN. And he is amazing. He actually believed that I knew what I wanted for myself and my life. It only took me 10 years. And he recommended me to someone that could do the procedure.

The day of the procedure was the same day as my court hearing to get a restraining order against my ex boyfriend (which will be the subject of another post). The procedure was in the morning and the hearing was in the afternoon. I figured I’d have no problem making it to both. Especially since neither could be rescheduled. And because I am a complete idiot.

WARNING: This post is about to have graphic language involving lady parts.

The night before the procedure I had to insert a pill into my vagina as far as I could get it to go. It would help soften my cervix for the procedure the next day. I thought I knew what to expect with the procedure because they had done a test run the month previously.

The worst part about it the first time was when they ripped a one inch chunk of my uterine wall out for testing with no anaesthesia. But they wouldn’t be doing that this time. And yes, I cried.

I wouldn’t be able to drive after the procedure because I’d be hopped up on vicodin and valium (which I secretly thought would make the court proceedings much more enjoyable). So my best friend, C, and her husband drove me to the OB/GYN. I was wearing my trusty pajama outfit from this story, but had brought a change of clothes for court.

The nurse called me back and observed me taking my drugs. She and I had previously begun a long relationship via multiple phone calls in which I made wildly inappropriate jokes. She had not once laughed at a single thing I had ever said.

The drugs kicked in and I asked if my friend could come back and join me. The nurse, B,  said yes, asked if my friend would want to see me so exposed. I told her C was pregnant and we had a deal. She’d be in here for this and I’d be in the hospital for her delivery. B said not till we started the procedure.

I pulled out my cell phone and texted C. I was really drugged up.

Me: Something in this room smells amazing. And I don’t know what it is.

C: Are you alone in there?

Me: I am right now. I am going to start smelling things till I figure out what that smell is.

C: You are in a gynecologists office! Do not smell random things! You don’t know where they’ve been.

Me: Actually I do. Vaginas.

Me: False alarm. It was my hair. They have a 3-d vagina puzzle back here that I am playing with. Bring my purse back so I can steal it.

3-D Vagina model!

3-D Vagina model!

The nurse walked in and I had my phone out. She gave me a shot in the butt and said it was time. I had a rather important question to ask her and the drugs had kicked in just enough for me to do so. “So, how long do I have to wait before having sex after this procedure?” I asked, B.

“Well, you really should wait 3 months before you start having unprotected sex. We will need to test you to make sure your tubes are fully blocked.”

“Yes, I know three months for my tubes to be blocked.  But I mean sex, in general.”

“In general you can’t have unprotected sex because you are still at risk for pregnancy.”

The OB/GYN, S, came in and so did some strange man who turned out to be the Essure representative. This was after my heart surgeries when I long ago stopped feeling things like shame.

“I know how babies are made. I’ve had sex many, many times before and not gotten pregnant. I just want to know how long I have to wait, after the procedure to have sex again.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have unprotected sex at all…”

I interrupted her. “Let me make this easier. When can I masturbate again?”

She flushed and mumbled, “One week.”

During the Essure procedure they opened me up with a speculum, then inserted a bunch of dilators into my cervix. Then they pumped my uterus full of saline solution and stuck a light and a camera in there. It was like the flooded movie set of a disaster film.

Like this, only mine were longer.

Like this, only mine were longer.

If I turned slightly I could see the inside of my uterus over my shoulder. The first spring got in my fallopian tube in less than 5 minutes. The spring blocks the tube and irritates it which causes the body to create scar tissue which eventually completely blocks the tube. It’s like a gross human pearl with a spring in the center instead of a grain of sand.

This is shoved in my Fallopian tubes.

This is shoved in my Fallopian tubes.

I suddenly thought of an idea. “Can I get one of you to take a picture of my vulva with all these dilators and cords sticking out? I really want to know what that looks like.”

B responded. “No. We can’t do that. That’s an invasion of your privacy.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s my phone and I want the picture.”

“We still can’t.”

“Well, call C in here so she can.”

But they wouldn’t. I keep getting medical staff with no sense of humor.

Apparently my second fallopian tube is weirdly twisted. They tried to get the tube in for over an hour. I was in complete agony and crying. They had dilated my cervix too much and I was losing saline solution. So much so that they ran out of it.

We had to reschedule for the next month. I walked out to the waiting room in agony and was crying. I was nauseous from the pain and was wearing a giant medical pad to catch all the saline solution that was leaking out. I was a mess.

And if we didn’t leave right then, I was going to miss my court hearing. But that is a story for another post.