You all knew the day would come when I'd write another rather disturbingly personal rant about my lady parts, and, well, today I just feel inspired. I'm not the only one with an unruly uterus, either. Jen of Cake Wrecks shared a special gem today that just reminded me what fabulous company I'm in. We should all be in a club or something: "Lady Bloggers and their Lady Organs." You may leave your suggestions for our club name in the comments. So Jen, this one's for you and your upcoming cauterization.
My uterus has been relatively submissive lately, having been beaten down by regular doses of hormones. They make me totally insane, but they sure do keep my uterus in check. But now that my employment has abruptly ended, my ovaries have decided that they can finally, without consequence, completely take over my life. Of course, they're taking full advantage of my inexplicable and totally insane desire to have children.
So now my schedule, my doctor's schedule, my parents' schedule, and even my stomach's schedule are ruled entirely by two puffy, cyst-covered, self-important masses in my lower abdomen.
Of course, I'm leaving out my diet. How could I forget? In order to please the new gods of my existence, I'm back on the Metformin. It hasn't been too bad—just your average nausea and fatigue routine—except that if I consume anything from the very top or the very bottom of the food pyramid, my body goes into emergency evacuation mode (is that not a fabulous place to use that phrase?), and whatever carbohydrates I've consumed make a rapid and violent exit. Eating may have lost a bit of pleasure, but I've come to appreciate quality toilet paper so much more.
And while I'm talking about pills, I might as well mention that I'm on my first round of Clomiphene. I'm one pill down, and so far I haven't developed the kind of mood swings, super-human screaming skills, or canine lengthening that would indicate a state of hormonal critical mass. Four to go. And when I take these pills, I can't help but think to myself, "May cause multiple births. Am I trying to get myself killed?"
Here's where we get to the really fun part. Once I finish my "days 5–8" pills, I go in for a "day 12" ultrasound. This is where my ovaries get to choose my fate. They can either go for broke and pop out an egg, in which case I can keep doing what I'm doing and move it on out to California with Mom and Dad the next Monday, or, they can hold out against all of my crazy pills and keep all of their eggs in painful little fluid-filled sacs in my abdominal cavity.
Contingency plan for ovarian misbehavior? Another round of even crazier pills and back on the table for another ultrasound after a week. This could go on all month. Once my ovaries start to work (which they will hopefully do with the minimally crazy pills), we move out to California to stay with my folks.
So if you ask me when I'm moving, and I tell you I have no idea, it's because my ovaries have made it quite clear that we're all on their schedule now. They will decide when my doctor has to see me, when I have to move, how Tim will schedule his CPA exams, When my parents will have a surly daughter and patient son-in-law moving in, and most of all, when and if I'll start puking my guts out because of a miraculous little parasite of my own.