My vagina has a cul-de-sac.
A lovely little pocket that one of my old OBs from when I gave birth must have thought it would have been fun to create. He must have been bored after I pushed out my nine-pound, four-ounce bundle of daughter and decided, hmmm, let’s make a cul-de-sac in here.
I wonder if it has a name, like Uterus Court or Ovarian Corner. You know, a quaint little out-of-the-way place in the neighborhood where everyone thinks it’s most desirable to live. The spot in the subdivision where the kids can play without getting run over by the traffic in the ‘hood.
How do I know this?
Something was residing in it and the doctor found it yesterday, and it was cotton and had a string attached and was not so pleasant smelling. Yep, a tampon. Go ahead, I’ll wait while you all gross out for a while. It wasn’t in there very long, at most 36 hours or so. And since I had an internal ultrasound the day previous, I’m sure that was the ‘mass’ the chick discovered floating next to my ovary that looked suspicious.
So, yeah, that’s how my Essure procedure began yesterday. Well, not quite. It began with me waking up and taking my shower and thinking, “This is the last shower I will ever take knowing I will be able to procreate.”
And this morning's shower I thought, “This is the first shower I have taken knowing I will never be able to procreate.”
Does your mind work like that? Mine does.
So, yesterday before I leave for the doctor, I take half a Xanax, as they instruct me to do, and we all know I am a Xanax-taking pro, except for this time in Cabo which was bad, bad, bad!
And then I take the other half when I arrive there.
I love, love, love the nurse, Mary, who I still love, even though she gives me some shot in the ass and informs me, “YOU HAVE HORRIBLE STRETCH MARKS.” That is EXACTLY what she says. And yes, she is looking at my hips and ass area.
But I don’t know if it’s her personality, or the Xanax, but I still love her. She tells me stretch marks are hereditary, which I already know, and she tells me she has varicose veins, which are hereditary too, probably to make me feel better. So I bend down to show her I do not have varicose veins, and I do in fact have very HOT legs that are varicose-vein free (I think that’s the Xanax kicking in, me bragging about my own legs).
She asks me if I have ever met Dr. O, and I tell her no. She tells me he is a hottie. I am excited to meet Dr. O Hottie. But she tells me not to tell him that she said he’s a hottie. I should tell on her after she said I had horrible stretch marks though right?
But when he comes in, she’s right. He’s hot. I’m glad. And I still like Mary. I ask Dr. O if he has ever considered being a newscaster because he is so thorough in detailing what will happen, and also he has great newscaster hair. Not like Matt Lauer, who probably at one time had great newscaster hair. I don't mention his great hair out loud, at least I don't think I do.
I tell Dr. O that when he yanks out my IUD I would like to keep it as a souvenir. And I ask him if anyone has ever asked to keep their IUD. I’ve had mine in since 2003. He says no one has ever asked to keep it. He was going to wash it off for me but I told him not to. I wanted to see if there was any gunk on it. Cuz I’m weird like that. It’s not too yucky. Do you all want me to post a photo on here? I can also post a picture of my fallopian tubes pre-Essure-procedure and post-Essure-procedure on here if you like. Cuz I watched the whole thing happen on the TV. Like a Discovery Channel show.
And I felt the whole thing happen too. It was kinda weird. I felt the tube thingy snake up into my fallopian tubes and then they let this little springy thing loose in my tubes. Dr. Hottie showed it to me first. It actually looked like the spring from a Bic pen. You know the kind that you would take apart in grade school when you were really bored and then you’d get blue splotchy ink all over your hands and your teacher would yell at you for playing around with your pen and then she’d yell for you to go wash your hands and then you’d secretly grin on your way to the bathroom cuz you got outta class anyway? Those kinda springs.
That’s what it looks like and now that’s inside my body. Two of them. And whenever I need to get an MRI I have to show them this special card that says I have some funky stuff inside my body. But, they won't make the machines go off in the airport. Drat.
And scar tissue will form over them in three months and prevent any swimmers from getting all up in my stuff to make babies. And that’s good because I’ll be 40 in one month and nine days and I don’t want to be chasing any little babies around in my 40s.
Last night, I did get a little weepy though, thinking that’s it. No more babies. I love, love, love, cherish, adore, worship my three precious, wonderful, awesome children that I have though. They are my life!
When I got home, I slept for four hours, and Mr. Manic took really good care of me, because well, of course, I took really good care of his nuggets. He will not have to smell his nuts ever burning. He will not ever have to have his feet in the stirrups. That BASTARD, do I love him or what?
But here’s the thing. And this is how I can make sure to make his life a living hell if he ever crosses me:
If he decides someday to ditch my ass and marry a 20-something with fake tits and way, way blond hair who wants to have his baby someday, well, I’ll let him have her. Because guess what? I will be laughing at his 60-year-old self running around with a freaking toddler of his own while I’m a divorcee doing what I want to do, living my life the way I want to live while he’s got a demanding bitchy young wife who doesn’t know the first thing about motherhood and he’s a 60-year-old dad!
Hahahahahah! Because that’s when his nuts will really be in the chopper!
Don’t forget to come back to Manic Mommy tomorrow for FiVe-BuCK FRiDaY where I’ll ask a fun question and the winner will receive Five Dollars just for the heck of it!