I went to urgent care last night and was given a cocktail of dilauded, toradol and phenergen. There was no pain. I was fine for a few hours. I did want to puke though, so I am questioning the phenergan.
He sent me home with a scrip for norco.
I can go to work today.
The painkiller wore off about 2 hours ago and I would chew off my foot and present it to the first person to make the pain stop. I’m sure that would hurt less.
My GYN’s office, of course, is closed. And every other time I call in they tell me to take a fucking ibuprofen and take a hot bath. I have 500mg ibuprofen, I can only take two a day AND I’M MAXED OUT, THANKS. I live in my bathtub, stewing in my own juices. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do at this point. I wish I was just being obnoxious and dramatic. I have experienced some horrible pain in my life, this ranks in the top three. And I’ve had an abscess cut open with a scalpel, sans anesthetic.
I just passed a blood clot bigger than my middle finger. I’m giving birth to chunks tonight.
She called me this morning and I answered the phone AUGHGUHEDFGHG MY UTERUS. She said she had a vicodin in her sock drawer from when she had her gums cut up. She offered me said vicodin.
For the first time in 8 days, I can’t feel anything from my belly button down. My cramps, my Nuva Ring, my raw red axe wound.
It’s been like ten years, and some boring shit has gone down with my hooey.
First, HIV free, 2 tests down and still negatory.
I was put on Lo Loestrin FE and went bat shit crazy. My tits went all watermelon and gave me some cleavage for like ten minutes, I cried for three weeks and my warped brain thought everyone was out to get me. I had a lot of first world problems. It was intense.
So I called the GYN and she took me off of it immediately and went to our last resort. The huge vaginal hula hoop branded Nuva Ring. It sits snugly up in my shit and bangs at my cervix. I hate it. But I’m not crazy anymore, so I decided to keep up with it.
It’s seriously huge. The day I picked it up, I nearly pissed myself laughing. That thing will not fit in my snatch. It does, but barely. I imagine this is what an overfilled sausage casing feels like, but in reverse. It’s like that game we all played in elementary school or on tequila night, the one where you stuff as many marshmallows in your mouth as possible; chubby bunny. The nuva ring is 15 marshmallows, I am playing chubby bunny with my cunt.
When I have to wear a tampon, which is right the fuck now because it’s my first day on my second ring and the hormones haven’t stopped the cascade of blood, it pulls the fucking ring out when I pull the tampon out. I’m fishing. It falls into the toilet and I have to sanitize it. Fishing for uterine lining.
I feel gross.
Otherwise, nothing unusual. I forgot about tumblr. Work consumed my life and as much as I love shouting about my junk, it doesn’t pay my bills. But I’ll be back.
When I am on my period and I have to sneeze.
(Source: ForGIFs.com, via fuckyeahloldemort)
“You have an unsaved post!”
more like you tried to be funny before realizing what a loser you are and exited out of the text post
(Source: d-eanwinchester, via fuckyeahloldemort)
I have been avoiding my GYN for a few months now, I just don’t have it in me to listen to her tell me my life would be so much better if I lost x amount of lbs. I’m stressed enough without having to worry about that monthly period nonsense. Making it a regular thing would not make me any happier, in fact, even though I desperately want normal reproductive health, I am quite enjoying not having a bleeding vagina and quite frankly it would ruin this semester. What with the work and school and NEVER HAVING A DAY OFF EVER thing.
I work with kids at my job, and it is giving me baby fever, though.
Perhaps it is a good thing my uterus is broken.
You tell yourself this is the last time. You wash your face at the bathroom sink and you think, next time, you’ll stand up for yourself. Next time you will walk out. Just leave him standing there, looking the fool. He’ll be sorry, as soon as your foot is out the door and it’ll be too little to too late.
And then you tell yourself he will change, that one day he’ll look at your tear-streaked face and realise that he has hurt you too much. He’ll be kind, and he’ll spend the rest of his life making it up to you. You tell yourself that as long as you are good, patient and kind, he will come around because good things happen to good people.
And then he says he loves you, and you met into those words and his arms. You are happy and hopeful and you find it ridiculous that you ever considered leaving him to begin with. You laugh at his demeaning jokes, brush them off as “just shit he says.” You bend over backwards to please him, always eager for a word of praise of a sign of his affection.
You are happy. Until, invariably he shouts at you, swears at you, or raises a fist to your face. Maybe all of these things happen.
When it’s over, you tell yourself this is the last time. You wash your face at the bathroom sink and you think, next time, you’ll stand up for yourself.
