Saturday, September 22, 2012
Whenever I hear stories about women who didn’t know they were pregnant and suddenly pop a baby out into the loo I cringe and wonder how those chicks could possibly be so fucking stupid. The changes that a body goes through during pregnancy are massive – so massive that it should be impossible to miss them. I would think that after missing a period for, say… I don’t know… four months, or experiencing the distinct feeling of a baby moving around – perhaps when it jams a foot into the ribcage – one would be like, “Okay, maybe I should look into this.”
It’s fucking ridiculous, and I can’t wrap my head around how it even happens. Nevertheless, I have a completely irrational fear of becoming one of those women, and that after talking so much shit I would have the same thing happen to me because The Fates can be total assholes sometimes. Despite being on birth control for years, I will randomly panic and NEED to take a pregnancy test at completely random times in order to sate my sudden paranoia. It’s because of this, and because of the fact that birth control is fucking expensive, that I am going in for tubal ligation this coming Tuesday.
Now, before I go on, let me clarify the difference between tubal ligation and hysterectomy, as I have had to do so several times already and really do not wish to do it again (though I get the feeling that I’ll probably have to…):
Tubal ligation is a surgical procedure for sterilization in which the fallopian tubes are clamped and blocked, or severed and sealed, in order to prevent eggs from reaching the uterus for fertilization. A hysterectomy is the partial or complete removal of the uterus.
So, as much as I despise my uterus (we have always had a very rocky relationship) I am keeping it – I’m just having it tweaked to better fit my needs. Of course, once my birth control clears my system, I’ll start having normal periods again, providing the sadistic son of a bitch an opportunity for revenge. (Is it weird that I’m anthropomorphizing my uterus??)
Because I’m going under the knife my mom will be flying in to help around the house (and with the kids, of course) as I recover from being slit open. I haven’t seen her in almost three years, so her two week stay is going to be quite… interesting – as her visits always are. I’m sure that we’ll start bickering at about the five day mark due to tons of unsolicited advice and overall personality conflicts. But at least she was willing to fly across the country to ensure that I would take it easy, even after I insisted that I could find a way to manage. You might be asking yourself, “Well, what about your husband?” Jeremy will be able to stay home with me for two days before having to go back to work; it’s an incredibly busy time, and he just can’t miss a whole lot at the office.
On a side note, I know that the recovery time for these things is typically only a couple of days, but I’m a goddamn delicate flower, and with my luck I’ll end up incapacitated for longer than expected because my body really does kind of hate me.
Anyhow, wish me luck folks. I reckon I’m going to need it.