Finally!

Check it out, yo!  Proof that a) my daughter is very strange, and b) my house REALLY IS messier than a pigsty.

Word to your mother.

Diagnosis.

I saw the new doc yesterday.  She was very very nice, too, I might add.  It was kind of a strange exam because when she was investigating my junk she kept telling me to cough.  Like, 17 times.  Weird.

Anyway, when she was done she told me that yes, my uterus is prolapsed, and that she wanted to refer me to a surgeon.  I told her that I had the name and number of a specialist that I would like to see, instead of a surgeon, and she had no problems referring me to the specialist, instead.  See?  She WAS very nice.  I think I'll keep her.

We got into the car, and started the drive home, and I started crying.  It was kind of a release.  I'd been keeping all these thoughts and feelings inside, because I just didn't know for sure one way or another. 

I talked to my mom last night, and she tried telling me that everything would be okay, and that it wouldn't be *such* a bad thing if they gave me a  hysterectomy.  She told me that I have 3 healthy kids, and that I should be thankful, and *she* had a tubal ligation, and it just makes things so much easier.  I almost threw up when she said that.

Is that how people think?  That having a hysterectomy at 27 is the same thing as having a tubal ligation at 43?  That having the choice of having more kids taken away from me is the same thing as making a conscious decision not to have more kids?  That since I already have kids I shouldn't be concerned about my future reproductive health?

Bryan made me feel better by telling me how smart we were for being proactive, and having the information ready to see the urogynecologist.  The doctor I saw yesterday obviously didn't know what to say to me, and that's fine.  I probably know more about the condition than she does.  I didn't go there for treatment, I went there for a diagnosis, and that's what I got, but I think a small part of me was hoping that I was full of shit, and she'd conclude the exam by saying, "Well I don't know what you thought, but you turned out to be just fine!"

Wishful thinking, I suppose, but this one time I wouldn't have minded being wrong.

I oughta smack someone.

Okay.  For the third frickin' time, I'M GOING TO FINISH THIS POST.  The stupid damn computer keeps erasing my entries.  Dammit.

Long story short (since I've typed it 3 damn times already) is: Medi-Cal switched my insurance without notifying me, so I have to see a different doctor.  Of course, I didn't find this out until I was sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office this afternoon, and I felt like a TOTAL fool, and everyone stared at me.

Maybe I should've started screaming about how things are falling out of my vagina, and OH DEAR GOD let me see the doctor!  Yes, that would've made a very fitting exit.  Maybe next time.

Anyway, I called the new doctor, and I'm going to be seen tomorrow.  Hopefully.  Unless they come out and tell me that Medi-Cal has decided that I'm really a man, so I should stop worrying about my vagina.

Or something.