So it's no secret that I have a particularly petulant uterus and ovaries; when I was 20, they decided it might be fun to start forming cysts, you know, just for the hell of it, and then decided it'd be even cooler if said cysts started rupturing, because I've always had a secret hankering for bed rest and copious amounts of narcotics.
For those of you that aren't entirely sure just what the hell endometriosis is, let me preface this by saying that whenever I explain it to someone for the first time, I start off by saying, "it's really gross." Because it kind of is, and if you're a chick you'll wince and hold your pelvic region in sympathy, but if you're a guy, you'll probably run away screaming. Which is probably for the best, seeing as you're facing off with a chick who's uterus is currently using her insides for a punching bag, and anything you say or do can and will be used against you once the pain meds wear off and the claws come out.
Anyway.
Here's the basic gist:
For normal ladies, when we charmingly go "on the rag", the lining of our uterus adorably sloughs off and comes out of our vaginas, along with all the other blood and goop and good stuff. It's awesome, I promise. So yeah, for normal chicks, this is a normal occurrence, and everyone's happy. Sort of.
For abnormal, endometrios-riddled chicks (and, in actuality, we're more common than most people realize) that awesome endometrial tissue still attractively sloughs off; but instead of being flushed out with the rest of the awesomeness, it decides it's quite comfortable where it is, and wants to set up camp. In other words, the tissue runs amok throughout the pelvic and abdominal regions, and sticks to things like ovaries, uteri (not that we have more than one uterus, but you get the point) and, in my case, nerve endings. It can cause infertility if it causes scar tissue to firm on your reproductive organs, and in fact, is the number one cause of infertility among women. Charming, no?
So I've been very lucky in the sense that it hasn't attacked my organs, and instead likes to stick to nerve endings and cause excruciating pain. But I can still spawn, if I so choose, and I'd much rather say "I chose not to unleash miniature Chelseas on the world" than "My organs are as hideously twisted and destroyed as Joan Rivers face, and thus I have no say in whether my hellish offspring will walk the earth." You know?
Continuing on in our supremely educational voyage, another side effect of endometriosis are ovarian cysts. They're called chocolate cysts, and not because they're full of delicious sugary goodness, but because they're full of old blood so they look brown. Sexy! And sometimes these cysts love to piss you the fuck off and derail all your immediate plans and rupture spectacularly, kind of like the volcanoes in the Discovery Channel documentaries I've been watching recently.
Mount Vulvasuvius
That's... kind of too fitting, and it's making me a little uncomfortable, so I'm just going to keep forging on so I don't have to look at the picture anymore. It's making my uterus sore. So anyway, yes, cysts sometimes burst, and it's spectacularly painful (as would any eruption in your pelvic area be, I would imagine, what with all the internal bleeding and all that fun stuff) and you go from up and mobile to hunched and crippled in under a minute flat. So best case scenario, you're mysteriously lounging about on a comfortable chaise lounge in the ER of a local hospital, so when it bursts you're able to be ushered right into a hospital bed. Worst case scenario, you're in 3 inch heels and a tight skirt, and you're on the clock at the restaurant you work in, and you pull a table out and it causes a cyst to rupture and then you're kind of fucked. Which is exactly what happened to me on Saturday night!
So yeah, long story short(ish) the cyst burst, I started hobbling, and I went back to Danee's apartment with her. I didn't want to go to the hospital because the pain wasn't as cripplingly intense as it's been the past couple of times this has happened, but by Sunday morning I was feeling worse, so I knew I had to go. I was afraid I had a massive cyst just waiting to burst, and I knew that with my luck, it'd burst on Monday when I got to the airport, or something equally as frustrating, so I decided to suck it up and go to the hospital. Specifically, to Cedars-Sinai.
Now, I've grown to be skeptical of hospitals, mainly because I've found that they're lying bitches that are out to destroy any last shreds of sanity and patience that you might be desperately clinging to. When my last two cysts burst, I had the extreme misfortune of having to go to the GW University Hospital. Keep in mind that this hospital is touted as the place to go in DC - presidents and senior officials are rushed there in their time of need, and anyone even remotely related to the GW community will happily cram down your throat just how amazing and attentive and top-notch the hospital is. Only problem? They're full of shit.
I've had THE most horrific experiences at the GW Hospital, including the time when they said the cyst was actually my appendix and it was rupturing and I had to have surgery immediately or I could die and then... they stuck me in a STORAGE CLOSET FOR 2 HOURS AND FORGOT ABOUT ME. So, you know, had it actually been my appendix, I would no longer be of this world, and wouldn't be able to regale you with tales of my fucked up womanly bits. And that, my friends, would be a travesty of the worst sorts.
In addition to being shoved in dark crevices, the doctors were fucking assholes, talked down to me like I was retarded (one male doctor told me obviously I was full of shit and had to be admitted, because women are 100% mobile and can walk with ease minutes after cysts rupture and since I was still hobbling, I was clearly hiding something - um, not sure where you got your degree, buddy, but I'm pretty sure your misogynistic ass failed Female Anatomy 101) or oggled my fruitbasket during a pelvic exam to the point where I had to scream at the intern to get the fuck out of the room and to stop staring at my vagina like it held all the answers to the universe. Good god, man, I just had an eruption down there, it's not like I'm propping my legs up on the stirrups to invite you to come and take a dip in the pool. Oh, and all of my trips? 12+ hours. And that was made up of 1 hour of doctor-interaction, and 11 hours of being ignored.
Seriously, I'd rather just grab a rusty saw, bite down on a belt, and carve out
my reproductive organs than have to go back to the GW Hospital
But at Cedars? Oh god, it was like hospital heaven! Rather than being shoved in a wheelchair and left for 45 minutes while I screamed and sobbed in pain and the other ER visitors begged them to take me back because they thought I was dying (thanks again, GW!), I waited all of 10 minutes before being ushered into an actual bed - an actual bed! In a room! Not in a hallway or a storage closet! Or next to a guy tripping his ass off on HGB who then commenced projectile vomiting! (More thanks, GW!) The doctor saw me within the first minute of being brought back, and rather than telling me I was stupid or lying, actually, you know, listened to me and promptly ordered appropriate tests. And, for anyone that's ever had a CT scan and had to drink the disgusting contrast that goes along with it, you'll appreciate this - they put lemonade crystal lite into the contrast to make it taste better. Crystal Lite! Now if that's not that extra caring touch, I seriously don't know what is. I know it sounds retarded, but I got a little teary eyed when they told me that. I've had so many bad fucking experiences, that a little touch of kindness like that almost made me lose it. Course I was a hormonal mess, but I'm trying to not ruin the authenticity and Hallmark Cardness of the moment.
So, I was in and out in 6 HOURS! 6! Half the time (at least!) of my other visits! And I was lucky enough that Andrea, Danee, and Breanna spent shifts watching over my crippled ass, and then all came over later for a night of - prepare yourself - McDonalds, Pizza Hut chocolate dunkers, BLT's popovers, petite fours, and Pinkberry. Oh god, the madness. And right now, I don't care if I'm fat, because I'm puffy as a motherfucker, so screw it. Bring on the carbs!
No comments:
Post a Comment