To Bleed or Not To Bleed


I feel like it is only fair to give some type of warning, THIS blog is not for the faint of heart.  It is especially not for men, whom I would strongly advise to close their browser or go surf some soft porn.  Today I am going to talk about women things and use words like vagina and uterus that make men woozy and fearful.  It is PMS week for me and that can sometimes make me a bit snarky.  You have been warned, turn back now or you will be sucked down the rabbit hole with me.

The past couple of weeks have included for me all those maintenance trips to the doctor to make sure everything is in working order, not falling apart or out, and that I can go another 12 months without having someone probe me or wrestle my breats WWE style into a machine made for flattening dough.  Here is another strange concept for men, we women go to the doctors without being sick so we can prevent getting sick.  I know, it’s crazy, but we do it.  Keep in mind this is optional, uncomfortable as hell, and we still do it.

My first trip was to my gynecologist, not only for my annual check but for a recheck of the “elective” surgery I had back in December.  Keep in mind that this time “elective” meant to remove a mass from my uterus and have ablasion done.  This was a procedure that I contemplated quite a bit before doing, as there is always risk with surgery and the results were not guaranteed.  In hindsight, the $2K out of pocket was well worth the fact that I now have periods for 2.5 days and no embarrassing incidents.

My doctor starts out with all the usual questions that make me feel awkward and old, and for some reason after everything she asks, I wonder if I got it right.  The only time I get upset is when she asks if I have had any unexplained weight loss, because that just seems cruel.  I just weighed in, you got the results right in front of you compared to last year, why the need to ask?  Also, I would prefer not to be asked about how many drinks I consume a week.  Last I checked there was a picture of a uterus on the front door, so in case I missed Betty Ford somewhere in the waiting room let’s get back to my vagina!  I like my doctor, as she is direct and tells you she knows it sucks to be a woman, right before she smiles and hands me my mammogram orders (bitch).

I am thankful that the mammogram techs are women, as I think they really do understand that it is an unpleasant experience.  You can definitely tell the people that have been doing it a while as they will start asking about the weather or your summer vacation plans while grabbing your breast and shoving you into the machine without missing a beat.  The newer techs start out by explaining the process and then turning their head while you pull your boob out.  Why?  In five seconds you’re going to be grabbing it like it’s a ham sandwich and you haven’t eaten in 48 hours, don’t get shy now.  I do want to tell anyone performing this job that they really don’t need to tell me, “This is going to be tight and may pinch or hurt.”  Really, cuz I thought it might be comforting or sensual.

Every year when I go through this I always wonder if these exams and tests would be so invasive and painful if a man had to go through them.  I think the first man to have a penisgram would become a full-time lobbyist and have enough funds available so that it would feel and seem like a hot 21 year old was holding his junk, instead of being compressed between metal and plastic.  Also, there would be no children if the only way to have them was through live birth.

Alright, my PMS has passed and with it my thoughts of how much mankind sucks and how being a woman should truly come with combat pay.  I also no longer wish that people I dislike were required to give birth to 16 pound kids without drugs, naturally.  I am returning to myself and engaging my inner bliss, well at least for the next 28 days.

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