Advertisements

Category Archives: endometriosis

My Cervix Is Not a Cloaca

17 Wednesday May 2017

Posted by in endometriosis, health, humor, mental health, Uncategorized

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

My cervix is an asshole. I mean, not technically. It’s not, like, a cloaca or anything, even though it’s acting kind of shitty. It’s still a cervix. But it’s kind of being a dick. Again, not technically. It’s still a lady-part. What I mean is that, for the last 6 or 7 years, it’s taken its job as Guardian of the Galaxy waaaaaay too seriously – like, thin Chris Pratt seriously, even though we all know fat Chris Pratt is so much funnier (yes, my friends finally talked me into watching Parks and Rec and I’m part way through the second season so it’s virtually all I think about).

chris pratt

Gentlemen, you should probably look away now.

Ladies, does your cervix cooperate? Because mine is all, “You ain’t payin’ rent, so you ain’t comin’ in,” to my doctor when she tries to get a sample during a pap smear. She pokes and prods whispers sweet nothings into my vagina, but my cervix is closed for business. If it had a shoulder, it would give her a cold one. Then, when the doctor finally gives up, my body throws a dance party, but it clearly gets out of control and turns into a mosh pit which is all fun and games until someone pokes an eye out…if my cervix had eyes…or even just one eye…which it doesn’t…I’m pretty sure. Anyway, I’m sure the mosh pit is fun for my reproductive organs, but I interpret all that hurling itself around as painful cramping which is less fun. Also, I feel a little left out that I wasn’t invited to the party. I can rock a lampshade on my head with the best of them. But I guess you don’t really wear a lampshade in a mosh pit (etiquette and all), so maybe that’s why I wasn’t invited.

So, then I asked my doctor if my cervix had, like, super powers, and I no longer need birth control to avoid getting pregnant because it would stop sperm in their tracks, but she just looked at me condescendingly and patiently explained that sperm are microscopic, and my cervix isn’t magical. Then she also reminded me that when I go off of the pill, my endometriosis goes craycray and I get erythema nordosum, so I should really stay on it. But then I said that maybe my cervix was so magical that it caused the erythema nordosum just to give itself a break, which is genius and pretty much the best birth control ever because no man wants to be with a woman covered in boils. My cervix is smart, y’all. I suggested we make it a cape in case it also has the ability to fly. Then she noted something in my chart and left the room. I don’t know why.

So I dressed quickly and hightailed it out of there before she either ordered a psych consult or alerted the enemy about my superhero cervix.

P.S. Cross your fingers that the doctor got enough of a sample that I don’t have to go back again for another try and pay for it again.

P.P.S. I was going to draw you a little picture of my cervix wearing a cape, but then I Googled cervix images to work from, and now I need to go throw up. Or drink some bourbon.

Advertisements

Powering Through *Now With Styrofoam!*

08 Thursday Sep 2016

Posted by in art, DIY, Eerieville, endometriosis, Haunt, health, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

It’s been a rough few days in my body, folks. Last week, I started going into a fibromyalgia flare, which means I’m stiff and sore and feel like I have the flu all day, every day. My joints  ache and my brain gets fuzzy and full of lint. Then the fibromyalgia exacerbated a endometriosis flare. And now I’m a hot mess. We got a shipment of styrofoam in at the haunted screampark and I was super excited to start sculpting it, so on Monday, I loaded up on Advil and Aleve and headed out, intending just to start working on a piece for a couple hours. It was going really well, though, so I kept going, and going, and going. Six and a half hours later, I finally called it quits because it was getting dark. And then I realized that I am a stupid, stupid human. When will I learn that pushing through  a couple extra hours will mean days of inability to function?

Yes, powering through is sometimes necessary. In fact, in this body, most days it’s necessary. Around these here parts, it’s called life. But I need to learn not to pretend I’m a superhero. So after a couple rough days, today I’m back in the studio, but I only painted for a couple hours in hopes that I’ll be able to paint again tomorrow. And I’m limiting my time on the computer, which is equally frustrating, but which gives my hands a break.

The worst part about all this ouchiness, though, is that I’m so loaded up on Advil and Aleve that I can’t have bourbon. I haven’t had bourbon in almost two weeks. TWO WEEKS! I know. Feel free to feel sorry for me. I feel sorry for myself. And I can’t even cry into my bourbon.

Lest you think that I callously abandoned you while limiting my computer time, I thought I’d share a couple photos from what is quickly becoming styrofoam land. I’m working on trees that will have creepy faces, some skeletons emerging from them, etc. Still a looooong way to go just on this first one, but still, progress:

styrofoam-blocks

tree-skeleton-beginning

tree-skeleton-drawn-on

tree-skeleton-initial-carving

Addiction

13 Tuesday Jan 2015

Posted by in endometriosis, humor

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

Okay, it’s time to get serious for a moment and talk about a problem that affects tens of thousands of children and adults across America. The issue? Silly Sock Addiction. You may have gotten mail from the SSA or passed SSA/SSD buildings and assumed that it was the Social Security Administration, but I’m here to tell you, people, that you’re wrong. Dead wrong. I, like many others, am Silly Sock Disabled. This is no laughing matter. See the picture below.

This pic doesn't even include my silly tights or my regular not-so-silly socks

This pic doesn’t even include my silly tights or my regular not-so-silly socks

My favorite pairs are the two in the middle of the top row with the individual toes, because they have glow-in-the-dark smiley faces on the toes. When I had my laparoscopy for endometriosis, my feet were cold while I was waiting to go in, so I took my toes out of the individual slots and wore them more like feet mittens than feet gloves*, and when I got out of surgery, one of the nurses had very carefully put each toe back in the right spot. How awesome is that? Also, this one time I was working for someone who’s grandkids came into the store, and I wanted to show them how my socks glowed, so I said, “Hey kids, want to see something really cool? Come into the bathroom with me and turn out the lights.” Their grandmother looked alarmed and I had to say she could come in, too, so she wouldn’t think I was trying to do horrible things to the kids.

So, I’m standing up today to ask for help. I think I need an intervention of some kind. I’m not sure how one weans off of an addiction like this. I mean, I self-medicate on a daily basis, sometimes wearing them paired appropriately, sometimes mixing and matching. I get through my days knowing that there’s secretly a party in my shoes. And I suspect that there is a genetic component to this disease, because my mom has a problem, too. In fact, she’s my biggest enabler. The movie Happy Feet was disappointing, because I was hoping it was a documentary about the plight of the Silly Sock Addicted. But no, it was just a documentary about dancing penguins.  Perhaps I need rehab or some kind of support group or something. I’m open to suggestion, because my sock drawer is getting out of control, and soon I’ll have to move to a bigger apartment to house bigger furniture to accommodate all these socks, and, let’s be honest, as an artist, I ain’t exactly rolling in money…rolling in socks, yes, money, no. Maybe I’d have more money if I bought fewer socks…

*Which reminds me, yesterday my husband said something about when he mouth-sneezed, and I looked at him puzzled and asked what a mouth-sneeze was? He demonstrated and I said, “Sweetie, I love you, but that’s called a cough.” If he had said that he nose-coughed, though, I totally would have gone with it.

0923132319-1

Let Karma Paint Your Toenails

11 Sunday Jan 2015

Posted by in endometriosis, health, humor, karma

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , ,

Here’s why I think karma exists, and why she is a woman scorned and with a fury like which hell hath no. Proof #1: When I was a kid, I went to horseback riding camp one summer, and one of my counselors got her period and spent the day in bed, curled up with her arms over her abdomen and crying. I remember thinking that she was really milking it, and it was “just a period.” I don’t think I had ever seen my mom complain about cramps, so I didn’t think it could possibly be such a big deal. Then I got my period, and endometriosis, and yes, every month I was sure it was the end of the world and I was dying, and I would do exactly the same thing, mixed with a little time spent vomiting in the bathroom, just for good measure. 20 something years, surgery, multiple hormone injections and pills, and several types of homeopathic/naturopathic remedies later, I STILL have some pretty hideous cramps – sometimes period related, sometimes not. It is more under control than it used to be, but every time it happens now, I think back to that poor counselor and how quickly and cruelly I judged her. Karma -1, Emily – 0.

Proof #2: Also when I was a kid, my best friend and I decided to hold her black lab, Sophie, down in the bathroom and paint the poor thing’s toenails. Fast forward to this summer, and the same friend and I met up at her parent’s house to play with her kids. My god daughter is 3 and is pretty sure that I’m a Disney princess or Goddess or something (when she sees Gisele Bundchen on a billboard she points and says, “Auntie Em!” because, apparently, I have grown at least a foot and gotten implants all while staying the same weight) , and when she saw that I had lavender toenails, she, of course, desperately wanted them, too. So we sent her dad out to CVS to pick up some nail polish. He came back with a dark purple, and while it wasn’t quite what she’d hoped, we agreed that if we had matching toenails, that would still be pretty darn cool. So we went into the bathroom (yes, the one where we’d held poor Sophie down) and I painted her teeny tiny toenails. I started to do mine but realized it wasn’t going to be much fun for her to sit there and watch, so I put some toilet paper down, handed her the paintbrush, and said, “Go for it, kid!” I even let her do a second coat. This is what she did.

Personally, in my unbiased opinion, I think she has a promising future career as an abstract artist.

Personally, in my unbiased opinion, I think she has a promising future career as an abstract artist.

I’m kind of up in the air about the karma on this one, though. In some ways, karma paid me back for painting Sophie’s toenails, but I think letting my god daughter make my toes look like someone had taken a meat cleaver to them kind of balances things out. So on this one, I’m going with Karma – 1, Emily – 1.