And Then You Get Older

I had my sonogram yesterday, and it turns out everything is completely fine.  Once again proving that women's health is more of an art than a science, there is no explanation for why I had such an odd month. My OB, who dropped the little angel's placenta on the floor while I was giving birth (lending the "birthing suite" the look of a Soprano's set), sat there with his white athletic socks pulled all the way up and his Nike running shoes clearly displayed and told me "things just go haywire after thirty."

The sonographer concurred.  "I don't know how many times women come in here and say they've been just regular as clockwork, then all of the sudden there they are, bleeding like a stuck pig for no reason at all.  It happens a lot.  It happened to me," she said.

I searched for more answers.  Did they think I miscarried?  It's possible, they said.  But I did take that pregnancy test that came out negative.  Did they think I had tumors?  No, they said.  You saw the sonogram.  (Of course, to me, the sonogram always looks like a study in grays more than a clear picture of ANYTHING.)  Did they think my birth control was still working?  Ah, they said.  Maybe we should switch it. 

First he said he could give me a pill that I had to take every day at the EXACT same time.  Not taking it at the EXACT same time would result in "breakthrough."

I asked why the hell anyone would want a pill like that?

Then he said he could give me Nuvaring, but that it's too weird for some people.  There are very few things that are too weird for me.  I asked what happens if it falls out.  He pulled up his socks.

Dr. M.:  "If it falls out, you just wash it off and pop it back in.  Presto."

Weird. 

But then he said it's the lowest-dosage hormone available.

Awesome. 

So I brought this thing home.  My beloved examined it closely, completely baffled as to why I would accept such a thing.  Men.  I explained the alternative is for him to wear the little raincoat on his pee pee for the rest of our lives, because I was sick of remembering to take the little white pills every day.  The thought of the little raincoat snapped him back to reality and remembering, as he rightfully should, that he should have a Coke and a smile and shut the fuck up, because I not only have dealt with my feminine issues for the past twenty or so years, but I also carried his beautiful little red-headed daughter to term then pushed her out while he stood by helplessly.  Every once in a while I have to remind him that physically? I've had the harder job.  It more than equals the fact that I have never mowed the lawn.

Anyway, so now I have this crazy thing.  And you are all probably horrified that I just discussed all this icky body stuff with the Internet.  However, no one EVER told me that your hormones can make your body go all wack-funky for no reason at all just because you've ticked over the magic 3-0.  So Internet?  Consider yourself informed.  'Cause I love you.