Trauma in the Doctor’s Office

Disclaimer: If you are squeamish at all, I don’t recommend you continue reading this post. If you read on, don’t say you weren’t warned.

I might have mentioned that last week I had a mole on my bikini line removed.  I’m a naturally moley person and have had several removed over the years. They are all completely benign and normal, but still, you have to get them seen to. Well, Sunday I popped a stitch on the incision. It wasn’t that big of a deal really, it bled just a tiny bit and I didn’t even call the doctor about it since it wasn’t bleeding. I just put two butterflies on it and kept on going. Yesterday late in the day, I popped another one. Well, Bridget did that. She was standing in my lap. But that one didn’t bleed at all and since they were supposed to come out today, I didn’t think twice about it.

Today I got up, got myself and Bridget up and ready for swimming, but first we had to stop at the doctor to get my stitches out. All was quick and wonderful (except for the multiple toddler tantrums - don’t get me started on that; that’s a topic for another post) until I stood up to put my pants back on. My doctor was washing his hands when it happened.

You know how sometimes your back pops and you wonder if you heard it or merely felt it happen? Well, I could almost swear that I both heard and felt the wound pop open. I looked down and was staring at flesh that should never see the light of day. I think I almost fainted - I’m not sure since I’ve never fainted but for a second, my peripheral vision went black.

Thankfully I hadn’t gotten to the car or the gym when it happened because I just hopped back up on the table, tried not to cry (because damn, I am having a shitty week) and let him stitch me up again. All the time I had to be cheery and play with Bridget. She must have sensed that Mommy’s world was about to explode because she stopped her caterwauling and looked at me with a very concerned face. We played the “where is your hair/nose/mouth” game while I got stitched up again.

The doctor isn’t quite sure why this happened except maybe for the two stitches that popped early. He apologized like it was his fault - I think it’s just a weird spot to stitch. There is hardly any way you can move and not have that skin move or pull or rub something. Granted my doctor is no surgeon and doesn’t do just a ton of stitching but I don’t think he did a bad job. Hell, at least he didn’t leave medical waste in me.

Now I have another week with stitches, which sucks doubly because I tend to have reactions to band aids on some areas of my skin and this is one of them. I need to keep it covered but that results in a very nasty skin reaction. Today at Target I bought some other brand of bandages with a different adhesive so hopefully that will help.  And on top of the pain in the ass of having stitches, swim lessons are not possible for at least another week. The class is only four weeks, we are in week 2, I have to miss week 3. That was money well spent. I’m going to call and see if I can move the classes back to August or something. Honestly I’m a bit relieved because I feel like I have too much stuff going on right now anyway. The class may only be 30 minutes long but the prep and follow up make it take much longer.

One might think then that this was a blessing in disguise. Perhaps it is, perhaps I had to learn the hard way to slow down and stop trying to do so much. But next time the universe wants to tell me that, could the message come via telegram, rather than painfully splitting open a gaping wound near my va-jay-jay?

TMI

Today I spent much more time with my pants off in doctor’s offices than is really comfortable.

First was a visit to the gyno because of my old pal Yeast Infection. Or something. Nothing like a quick speculum insertion first thing in the morning. Haven’t had a wake-me-up like that since my every other day ultrasound wandings with the vaggie cam. Better than a trip to Starbuck’s.

Then I had to go to my family practice doctor to have the mole on my bikini line removed. I’m a very moley person and have to have them removed periodically. So far (knock wood) they’ve all been nothing to worry about but it’s still a pain, literally and figuratively, to have them removed. Plus I just don’t usually have my pants off at my family doctor’s office. Usually it’s a sinus infection or tendonitis or a cricked neck. That’s a little weird.

The worst part is that I can’t take Bridgie to swimming on Tuesday. We missed today thanks to my last minute gyno appointment and then my other doctor told me I can’t go swimming until the stitches come out next Thursday. Poor Bridgie. And Jake will be out of town next week too. So I shamelessly begged Karin to go with us and hold Bridget in the pool for her lessons. Then I begged the doctor to give me an early appointment next Thursday so I can get the stitches out and make it to swim lessons.

Now I think it’s a vicodin night as my nerve blocker is wearing off and this incision is really starting to hurt.

Holy Mother of God

I swear, I swear, I swear that I will NEVER go this long between bikini waxes ever again.

<sobs>

I took three advil before I went. What I should have done was take two vicodin and had Jake drive me there and back. Oweeee…. It doesn’t even look pretty - it’s far too red and angry. I think that I might be bleeding in spots too.

We have errands to do but I think I’m just going to lay in bed with my legs in the air.

I Don’t Feel Like a Diva

First, if any of you reading this post have a penis, I suggest you click away now. Seriously.

OK, now that we got rid of the men folk, I wanted to share that I recently bought a Diva Cup. The reasons for this are varied  and as much as I’d like to say that it was purely for environmental reasons, that would be a lie. That was a big plus, don’t get me wrong, but the main reasons had more to do with the fact that I’ve been getting these chronic yeast infections and frankly, there may be some link to tampon usage in that. (If there were any men reading this despite the warning, that plume of smoke you just saw was them running away to scrub their eyes of the words they just read.)

So I bought the thing and waited until it was time to use it. Today was that day. Another kick in the ass by the gods, I might say after yesterday’s adventure, but I long ago learned not to take getting my period as a personal affront.  And I’m just not sure. I don’t seem to be…. doing it right. I have no trouble with insertion, like I thought I would, but I can’t get it situated right. It’s not uncomfortable at all, and I don’t mind the removal and all that, but since I don’t get it situated correctly, it leaks.

I’m reserving judgment. I’ve got too much going on in my head right now to worry about this. I’ll go back to the prior methods and try again when I’m not wound up this tightly.

Did I mention that when I bought the thing, it came with a commemorative lapel pin? So we can identify each other on the street? “Oh, are you a Diva? I’m a Diva too! Let’s go drink some General Foods International Coffees and discuss our cycles!” Well, maybe after next time I can proudly wear my pin.

Beware the Beast

OK, didn’t I totally JUST have my period? What do you mean you don’t know? I thought you were keeping track of my cycles.  I swear, if you want something done right, you just have to do it yourself.

I am so not digging this being a girl business since Bridget’s birth. I had forgotten how nice ten years of birth control were as far as periods went. Regular, short, and light. Just like I like my men. Wait, no.

And then I went eighteen months with no period, thanks to the wonders of nursing. But now it’s back and I have suffered the worst PMS and DMS (I call that During Menstrual Syndrome) I have ever had. Yikes. Don’t piss me off this week or I’ll take your head off. I could complain about this to my doctor, but her solution will most likely be birth control pills and I am sooooo done with those. That’s the one upside to being an infertile bitch - I can stop spending my money on frivolous things like that and instead spend it on important things like shoes and bottles of wine.  Maybe the wine and shoes will help with the bitchiness.

Another Reason I Miss Nursing

Damn! I’m getting my period for the first time since February of 2006. I have thought a couple times in the past few months that maybe it was happening, but it never really materialized. But it’s real this time. Words cannot express the joy I am feeling.

I guess that explains the tiredness, the headache, the grumpiness, and the manic need for chocolate that I’ve been experiencing lately. I might need to go lay down with a heating pad soon.

SEX!

Well. Now that I have your attention….

Yeah, yeah, I haven’t posted in ages and now I’m hopped up on marshmallows and tired beyond belief, so you get two in one night. That sounds dirty. Well, actually this whole post is going to sound kind of dirty. And please note that I added a new category especially for this entry called TMI. So don’t say you haven’t been warned.

So yeah, um, since the baby has been born? Best. Sex. Ever. I don’t know what got rearranged down there during childbirth, but damn! Jake and I were just discussing this tonight in the car, actually. I guess this is Mother Nature’s way of making up for cheating me out of the crazy insatiable need for sex during my pregnancy. Back then, I had heartburn so awful that sex was bordering on misery because I was either laying down or getting jostled around too much. The cruel irony is that now that it is so earth-shakingly good, I’m too tired to do it most of the time. Damn baby who won’t sleep through the night anymore! I read somewhere that this is her way of preventing pesky siblings. I truly believe that.

Anyone else have this happen? Just curious. The sex part, not the baby not sleeping through the night. I know there are plenty of you out there whose babies don’t sleep through the night.

Now I need to go to bed. And not to have sex, so stop thinking that. My boobs are way too engorged and painful for that. But that’s a story for another blog entry. This is about my hoo-ha, not my boobs. Jeez….

Overheard Just Moments Ago

Donna: “Do you want to put the rest of this bottle of [insert cola name here] in the fridge for later?”

Jake: “I don’t know. Are we going to have sex?”

If you understand his logic, you must be male. I had to have it explained to me.

Advice

For any of you pregos out there who may be dealing with the torture that is constipation, this one’s for you.

Oatmeal in the morning = poop in the afternoon. Like magic, I tell you. The only problem is that it works a little too soon, if you know what I mean. I hate to poop at work, but you gotta do what you gotta do. And I have found a super secret women’s bathroom that, while a bit of a longer walk than the one right around the corner from me, offers a lot more privacy. I know, I know. I feel like George Costanza sneaking off to my own private bathroom. I promise, I have not yet sunk so low that I am bringing my own bathmat and toilet paper from home. Although, it would be more cozy, now wouldn’t it? Hmmmm…..

Your Lights are On

Ladies and gentlemen, I am smuggling raisins today. Yes, my nipples are standing at attention, trying to figure out when we moved to Greenland. They are not pleased. And neither am I. How terribly embarassing. Why can’t anyone understand that just because it’s hot outside, it is not necessary to cool the office to 58 degrees? Really. I need a blanket or something.

See how other people are blogging about the hurricane victims? Nope, not me. Gotta talk about my nipples.