Uterine Adventures

It all began when my uterus got the mistaken idea that I was pregnant with the spawn of Satan. My uterus became fixated on the belief that it was only up to itself to rid the world of this demonic fetus that actually didn't exist. Thus every menstruation my uterus attempted to remove all vestiges of my insides in the belief that this would stop the imaginary devil-baby from entering the world. 

At first I just dealt with it. I mean, that's kind of womanhood. We are bonded together in this monthly ritual of un-fertilization that is at the least uncomfortable, and at the worst a little piece of hell on earth. So I just let my uterus do its' thing. But then early one morning I was gently asleep. 

 Then quite suddenly I wasn't. 

 It was here. The moment had come. My period was upon me. The pain builds up fast, so if you don't take a bucket full of pain-killers the moment you become conscious, you're out of luck. There is no hope. You will suffer. I quickly tried to find a water source. Water. Water and pills. I headed to the bathroom where the cool tiles beckoned to my sweat-covered body. Alas I did not make it, which can be considered pathetic, considering that the bathroom door is INCHES away from my door. But I didn't make it. I collapsed in the hallway, staring at the bathroom door in desperation, writhing in the fetal position and praying I would one day be found. 

My 11-year-old brother came around the corner, just looking for his backpack. He saw me. 

 His adult sister on the floor in pain-dazed delirium. I reached for him. "Medicine," I whispered. "I need medicine..." I gave him his instructions with all the severity of Gandalf giving Frodo the Ring. I told him what kind of medicine, what kind of bottle, what cupboard, and even what shelf. I watched him depart and fervently hoped he could accomplish the task.  

"Uh...Brianna?" He called softly when he returned, the demeanor on his face appropriate for a beloved and sadly delicate pet. "I couldn't find it. But I brought some of these." 

 I clawed at his arms, desperate to find the bottle I needed. Like Gollum going through Frodo's pockets. Where iss it?! Precioussss...

 But no. It was not meant to be. His armload was full of vitamins, children's allergy medicine, iron, calcium, anxiety medication. None of it was any use to me. I sent him away and dragged myself into the bathroom to lay my cheek against the cool floor, like Frodo after he loses a finger. My brother stared. 

 My sister is dying. 

Then, after several doctor's visits and analysis of my delusional uterus, everyone decided that birth control would help bring my uterus back to reality. 

I approached this next step with a budding excitement. Birth control. This is also a part of womanhood. There was a faint hope that maybe, just maybe, one day I would have sex. And if that was so, birth control would become a part of my life, as it is for nearly every other woman I know. So I did it. I tried it. 

Worst decision of my life. 

The factors against me were that I had never tried birth control before, I was babysitting 4 days straight, for four children ages 2-12. The other factor was that I am highly sensitive to medication. I once got a colonoscopy at 6 years-old and almost had to stay the night because no one could wake me up. 

But ignoring all this, I tried it, and 15 hours later (aka 4:00 am) I found myself thus:

 I was nauseous, dizzy, my head splitting with pain. So I simply circled the toilet with my arms and waited for it to go away. This would have been an ideal moment to have a Samwise in my life. I kept thinking of my friend who had told me, "That's the birth control I use, and I love it!" Oh the cruelty. 

Long after any food remained in my body I slunk back to bed, sweaty with a migraine and the feeling that someone had shoved their arm down my throat and pulled out my ilium. 

Then at 6:45 am the four-year-old found me. 

I stared at him. 

Please. Leave me alone to die. 

The poor bloke couldn't understand. "Come on, I'm hungry!" I was all, "I'm sick. I don't feel good." He just looked at me in confusion. "But I'm hungry." 

It took me 7 minutes to send my frantic text because I could only look at the screen for 3 seconds at a time. The walk downstairs to get him a piece of bread resulted in 10 minutes in the bathroom. And it wasn't even 7:00am. 

I soon found a replacement babysitter and was rescued by my mother ("The Eagles are coming!"). She tucked me into bed and lathered me with peppermint oil, which is supposed to help with nausea. I slowly was able to drift into a peppermint-induced sleep and woke up feeling like I would maybe recover. One day. It's either that or sail to the Undying Lands. 

Needless to say I will NOT be trying that again.