Ok...if you don't want to read about girly issues...stop now. I just wanted to share yet one more thing apparently no one is talking about (enough). To set up: I have chronic anemia. The kind that requires iron infusions up to 3 times a year so I can walk around. The culprit - my cycle. So, since I'm closer to menopause than college, my doctor took me into a lovely book filled room, put on her dark glasses and asked me if I wanted the "Red Pill or the Blue Pill" and explained the results of both. The "Red Pill" was hormonal tampering birth control which years ago had turned me into a raging bull and I was not a fan of. But I got to keep all my insides and they wouldn't come near me with a needle. The "Blue Pill" was something different than the infamous hysterectomy - they took out the lining of your uterus, left everything intact and working like normal - just no red parade every month.
I paused.
I took the "Red Pill" simply because I'd researched it already. Unlike Neo, I could come back and take the other one whenever I wanted. 2 weeks on the patch and I had a rash up the entire right side of my body, a constant headache and a messed up cycle (which is lot like the movie Alien - something struggling inside to get out by any means necessary). I went back for the "Blue Pill". Dr. Morpheus held it back a second: "If you choose this one, you can never have children, you can never go back." I thought about it - hmmm...no kids? I get to live my life just as I've been living it? I'm too old to have kids, I'm not married and don't plan on it, and I don't like kids (as a rule)...so I grabbed it.
So far, so good. Don't remember Friday (day of the surgery), nauseau on Sunday and normal pre-cycle activity so far. Will keep you girls posted...I know there are a LOT of girls suffering without a purpose. We perpetually freedom chicks (non-breeders) need to stick together! (Sorry, boys, but I did warn you to stop reading in the beginning...)
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
June 28 is too long ago...
It's August. I've been on "vacation". No boys in the yard (maybe a sporadic 1) but I'm good. As a Gold Medal Single Woman, I have adopted another baby (dog) and am getting used to being a mother of two. It's fun (for the last 2 days) and I think I really like being a mom that delegates her love (mwahhahahaah!)
Not trying to be funny and no, this has nothing (really) to do with boys. Well, I take that back. I am trying to learn to be content and not get caught up in the "Drama of the Boy" that happens when you think you're being chased by the opposite sex. It's hard (cuz you boys know you spoil us with a word sometimes) but I'm getting it done because I'm used to this kind of life. I'm getting more relaxed by the day. But I do have a mature gentleman that won't leave the yard. He was at first full of accomplished pride and rubbed me the wrong way but is slowly, if anything, earning my respect with his insight. He's turning out cool. Imagine that. I think men know that consistency is like a woman's Kryptonite. Doesn't matter what he does...if he's consistent, we are on board, regardless if we want to or not.
Anyways, he's the subject of many internal town meetings within myself and the question on the chopping block is why he's still here...will work it out.
On a lighter (kinda) note, I have a new baby. My eternally selfish, mini-me was preparing to launch herself into Marvel/DC worthy kind of depression because she'd be living away from her cousins when I moved and I was seriously thinking about launching a preemitive strike and getting her a friend/sister to hang out with when we move to the new place. So, through a series of strange coincidences (not really), I have a small, hairy child called Raven (renaming Regine) that I'm discovering the joys/pains about. I have to comb hair. Sorry that that is the main issue at the moment, but she's a wonderful dog with a former wonderful owner and doesn't give me any actual trouble. But my oldest girl is short hair, tom-boyish and a great guard dog. I'm not used to pretty. Raven is good about it (no growling or threatening) but combing her hair is like having a child with a lot of nappy hair. She feels like a job when I have to do that. So I'm trying to wrap my head around how to go about keeping her pretty without doing it myself. Ugh.
Not trying to be funny and no, this has nothing (really) to do with boys. Well, I take that back. I am trying to learn to be content and not get caught up in the "Drama of the Boy" that happens when you think you're being chased by the opposite sex. It's hard (cuz you boys know you spoil us with a word sometimes) but I'm getting it done because I'm used to this kind of life. I'm getting more relaxed by the day. But I do have a mature gentleman that won't leave the yard. He was at first full of accomplished pride and rubbed me the wrong way but is slowly, if anything, earning my respect with his insight. He's turning out cool. Imagine that. I think men know that consistency is like a woman's Kryptonite. Doesn't matter what he does...if he's consistent, we are on board, regardless if we want to or not.
Anyways, he's the subject of many internal town meetings within myself and the question on the chopping block is why he's still here...will work it out.
On a lighter (kinda) note, I have a new baby. My eternally selfish, mini-me was preparing to launch herself into Marvel/DC worthy kind of depression because she'd be living away from her cousins when I moved and I was seriously thinking about launching a preemitive strike and getting her a friend/sister to hang out with when we move to the new place. So, through a series of strange coincidences (not really), I have a small, hairy child called Raven (renaming Regine) that I'm discovering the joys/pains about. I have to comb hair. Sorry that that is the main issue at the moment, but she's a wonderful dog with a former wonderful owner and doesn't give me any actual trouble. But my oldest girl is short hair, tom-boyish and a great guard dog. I'm not used to pretty. Raven is good about it (no growling or threatening) but combing her hair is like having a child with a lot of nappy hair. She feels like a job when I have to do that. So I'm trying to wrap my head around how to go about keeping her pretty without doing it myself. Ugh.
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