That my friends is a uterus. (And yes, you can thank me for not posting an image of a real uterus.)
It looks all innocent… but no, don’t let it fool you… it’s evil. PURE EVIL.
Normally, I’ve got that little bastard under control. I’ve got little happy no-baby pills that would sedate it to a tolerable level. But no job means no insurance and no income, which both mean no more happy no-baby pills. (I actually only started birth control just to get my menstrual cycle in check. Then came the added benefits of better complexion and no babies.)
This leaves me a mess. Not a crazy emotional mess. No, just a shriveled in the corner, DEAR GOD STOP THE PAIN mess. My body temperature fluctuates so I can’t get comfortable. At times, I start shaking… And the cramps. It’s like a vice grip, running of the bulls, and slam-dancing mosh pit of angry midgets wearing steal-toed clogs all at once. All happening inside you. (Yeah, guys? Imaging someone slamming your balls inside you then squeezing them tightly for 4-5 days straight.)
There have been cycles in my past where I’ve just wanted to give up. I wanted the doctors to roll in and remove that damn organ from my body. At some point, I might want kids — and though I am serious about looking into adoption, I’m not sure I want to give up the option of creating some sort of offspring with a future spouse.
So until then, I just have to wait until I can afford my happy no-baby pills again… and load up on ibuprofen and muscle relaxers.
The up side to my period? I use menstrual cups and therefor never have to waste money on pads and tampons again. So at least this monthly drain of my system isn’t also draining my bank account.