Bleeding

For almost two years, I bled every day. Not consistently, but randomly and heavily. 

Fibroids were the cause. One large fibroid, to be exact, along with two smaller ones and two ovarian cysts. A short lived pregnancy had altered the hormones in my body enough to cause the fibroids and cysts to start growing. 

I bled in the morning. I bled at night. I would get in the car to go home from work and the seat would be soaked in blood by the time I made my ten minute commute. I bled when my partner and I tried to have sex.  I would go an entire day without bleeding, then bend over or stretch and feel blood start gushing out. 

I stopped being able to use my Moon Cup. Or tampons, for that matter. The fibroid was so huge it would simply push them back out. 

After eighteen months of this, I got an infection. Not a regular UTI or bladder infection---it was spread throughout my body. My fibroid was causing my uterus to become swollen and infected. 

That's when I knew it was time for action. 

After speaking with several doctors, it was decided I'd get a uterine ablation. The doctors warned me that it probably wouldn't stop my monthly bleeding but at least it would make it impossible for the fibroid to grow back. The downside? I'd never be able to have children. My only other option was a full hysterectomy. I meditated on it at length and realized that I really didn't have any other options. 

In the weeks following the ablation, my body breathed a sigh of relief. My periods were shorter, lighter, and regular. The incessant cramping was gone, as was the random heavy bleeding that I'd been living with for so long. 

I don't regret doing it; I really had no other option. 

But every time I see a woman screaming at her children and telling them they are unwanted, and every time I hear a patient with six kids complaining about how she didn't want them in the first place, I feel a pang of sadness. I will never be a mother. I'll never know what it feels like to look into a child's eyes and bond with them. I'll never be able to nurture and raise a child the way I want to. People tell me(almost daily) that my partner and I should have kids, that we would be excellent and loving parents. They don't realize that it isn't possible for us. 

I'll never be a parent, and I'm reminded of it every month when I bleed. 

My Favorite Place--Four haikus

A Womyn laughing

So hard she can barely breathe

That is Fest to me.

A Womyn smiling

So wide her face almost hurts

That is Fest to me.

A Womyn loving

So fierce, strong, and powerful

That is Fest to me.

A Womyn growing

Learning to cherish herself

That is Fest to me. 

Food

My mother has nagged me about my weight since I was nine years old. Until then I was underweight and scrawny, and endured the constant refrain of 'Eat more, you're too skinny' from my aunts and grandmother. But then my body started changing, and so did my relationship with food. 

At ten, she took me to my first TOPS(taking off pounds sensibly) meeting. I was the only kid there, and endured an hour every Monday and Thursday night of hearing her tell her friends how chubby and unattractive I was. Every night as I ate dinner, she would scrutinize and comment on everything I ate. 

At twelve, she tried taking me to Weight Watchers. I dutifully charted my food and counted my points but stayed the same size. At home I was no longer allowed to eat cookies or cake; the only treat I was allowed was a chalky chocolate flavored diet drink called Alba77. I hated it and would throw it down the toilet when she wasn't looking. She told me frequently that if only I was as thin as my cousin B(who was using various drugs) then I would be the pretty, popular daughter she had always dreamed of having. 

At fourteen, I went to theatre camp and learned how to stick my finger down my throat. Despite only being a size fourteen, I quickly started purging. I would go three or four days without eating, then binge and purge. Some days I would allow myself a half apple for the day; I would slice it thin and take small bite when I felt faint. 

I quickly shrank down even further; my ribs stuck out and my hipbones jutted out prominently. For the first time in my life, my mother was nice to me. She bought me clothes. She told me I was pretty. She didn't seem to notice that my periods had stopped or that my bones stuck out. I was thin, and that was the most important thing. 

At sixteen, my drama coach brought me breakfast on a Monday morning. I thanked her and told her I'd eat it later. She told me,"No, I'd like to see you eat it." I ate a few bites, thinking I would go into the bathroom and purge. But she followed me into the bathroom.

 Then she informed me that she knew what I had been doing, and that she had called my parents about it. She said that my mother had gotten angry and told her that it was okay as long as I was thin. My teacher told me ," She may not be willing to do anything about it, but I will". 

After that things changed. My friends from the drama club followed me everywhere. They watched me eat and one of them seemed to always follow me into the bathroom afterwards. They sat with me at breakfast and lunch, and the guys in the group brought me a snack every day after school.  

I've never been able to figure out if she asked them to do these things, or if they talked about it among themselves and decided to do it. 

I haven't starved myself or purged in many years. It took a long time for me to be able to eat normally and some days I still struggle with the urge to stop eating. When I get a stomach virus and throw up, it takes weeks to be able to convince myself to eat normally again. 

My mother still wistfully talks about when I was thin at family functions and has told me more than once that I should 'do that diet' I did in high school. 

Food is no longer a punishment for me. It is sensual, delicious, and beautiful. It makes me feel good and nourished and whole. And every day I am thankful for my drama coach who, with a breakfast of runny powdered eggs and some words of encouragement, kept me from starving myself to death. 

Childhood Memory, not in poetic form.

I floated above the entrance to the hospital and watched my dad drag me through the hospital doors and down the hall, crying and screaming for help. I could see my body shaking as the nurses rushed out to grab me and lift me into a bed. I watched them frantically push needles in my arms and start an IV. Then I woke up on the bed, saw my dad sobbing in the corner of the room, and knew I had almost died. 

That was my first seizure. Over the next few years I had them regularly. My dad started sleeping on the floor outside of my bedroom so that he could hear me gasping for air when a seizure started. He would run into the room, push me on my side, and hold me until the shaking stopped. Sometimes they didn't, and I'd wake up in the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital. 

The doctors tried dozens of different pill combinations, sometimes mixing 15-20 different medications at once in at effort to get the seizures to stop. After numerous scans and tests it was determined that I only had them in the first stage of sleep and that it was a hereditary condition passed down from my grandmother, but nothing the doctors tried made them stop. 

At eighteen I was at a friends house and her brother was smoking a type of cigarette I had never seen before. Curious, I asked if I could try one. It was the first time I had ever seen or tried weed. 

I never had another seizure again. 

Grace

I have never been a woman known for her grace and beauty. 

My walk resembles that of a drunken sailor, or so I've been told. I wore braces on my legs until I was five and I never developed the graceful walk of most women. 

My voice can be coarse and shrill and grating. I can't count the number of times I've been told to tone it down. 

My laugh is loud and often startles people when they first hear it. 

My teeth are crooked and chipped from years of bulimia and lack of dental care. 

My hands are short, stubby, and rough. I try to paint my nails but they just end up chipped and broken. 

But. My crazy walk feels peaceful as I slowly amble through the woods with my niece, stopping every few seconds to help her pick up a rock she's found or delight in some leaves she thinks are beautiful. I walk at her pace, not rushing her as most other adults do. 

My loud, grating voice is low and soothing as I comfort a crying woman who has just found out bad news. It's supportive and gentle as I help her make hard decisions and find the courage to take care of herself. 

My loud laugh delights my partner and friends, who stop what they are doing and laugh along with me for the sheer joy of being alive. 

My teeth may not be pretty, but my smile is warm and reassuring. My smile makes people feel safe, and loved, and welcome. 

My stubby hands can do anything. Build a table, change the oil in my car, then switch to more domestic duties as I cook delicious and filling meals for my family and coworkers, and keep our home clean.

I may not have grace, but I've got something better. 

Travel

I spent five years of my life in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, only leaving the tiny town to visit my parents three times. 

Before that, though...I traveled everywhere. I took the train on 3 AM trips to Chicago, drove to protests in Washington D. C. and Alabama, and had spontaneous road trips to visit friends around the country just because I could. 

All of that changed when I started dating C. She liked our small town and felt no need to leave. When we left our apartment, even to go to the grocery store she got visibly nervous, preferring to spend all of her free time smoking weed with friends. 

Several times I would plan small getaways to nearby towns, renting a room at a bed and breakfast and making plans to meet up with friends. I never got to go. She always talked me out of it at the last minute. 

I visited my parents a few times those years but she always refused to go with me. After a while, I stopped going too, and resigned myself to spending the rest of my life in that town. 

The day I finally took control of my life and left her I drove for hours, going further than I had in years. I haven't been back there since. 

atheistmas

It has been a long time since I posted here. I've been a little busy.
In the past eleven months I:

*Completely swore off relationships and decided I was going to be slutty and single forever

*Finished my teaching certification

*Fell in love(Yes, seriously)

*Had a massive full body infection that almost killed me and caused me to gain 30+ pounds in four months

*Started writing again

*Discovered my uterus was harboring about ten pounds of fibroids and polyps

*Got a sweet raise at my job

*Started substitute teaching

*Started a garden but was unable to keep it up due to illness

*Paid off one of my credit cards---only two more left!

*Got a gym membership and discovered exercise isn't as bad as I thought it would be

*Had uterine surgery
(No more periods, ever!)

*Got engaged to a woman I love very much


Its been a busy few months.
Hopefully the next few will be calmer and I can get back to blogging regularly.