Vague

8:43 p.m.

This morning I got up stupidly early to go see the girly doctor about my jacked up cycle, the half of which I haven't really described in this blog. She was really sweet and professional and good, and I'm afraid I made her crack up while she was poking my cervix due to my need to be all, "Hey, do you guys want to hear a story about the coldest speculum ever?" and then telling it. Also, she gave me a discount. So that was good. But. The news? The news was not so great. Vague, but not great. She told me something is definitely "abnormal" about my uterus. She can't be sure what it is, but her guesses were polyps, fibroids, endometriosis, or then some other things that were more bad. She was very understanding about my lack of insurance, and told me not to freak out, but in the fall, when I have insurance, to definitely go see someone about getting an ultrasound and some other tests that I can't currently remember the name of because I found that sketchy bottle of cranberry vodka in the back of the freezer. For now, for a quick fix to hopefully not bleed during my honeymoon (even after six years on the pill I was still bleeding fairly heavily mid-cycle) she prescribed the strongest birth control she could think of. If it doesn't work, she's gonna give me extra estrogen. But was reluctant to do that, because she said it would make me pretty sick.

At the very end of the exam, I found myself clumsily stuttering, "Um, so, but. These polyps and the other stuff you talked about, the abnormalities, um. What if, um. You know, when I want to um, will it be a problem? Is that, will I be in...I mean, what?" She turned around and looked me in the eye. "Will I have problems getting pregnant?"

She sat down again and shook her head. She said she couldn't really say, that it could go either way. But she could see me having problems getting pregnant, and although it was hard to tell at this point, pregnancy might be a big problem.

Or, you know, maybe not.

Somehow I got out of there without crying, but by the time I escaped the hospital's carpeted hallways and got to my car I was sobbing and freaking out. I called Justin, and then my mom, both of whom were awesome. My mom pointed out that I shouldn't worry, because sometimes doctors give you the worst case scenario because they don't want to give false hope, and that everything will probably be fine. She called back within ten minutes to tell me everything is going to be fine and not to worry. Let's just focus on getting to Hawaii. Justin was sweet. They both were good.

So even though I shouldn't technically worry until next fall, and just hope and pray these pills work to successfully "thin that lining," that little niggling worry will be there at the back of my mind. There's a big difference between "everything may be fine"and "pregnancy might not work." A big difference between the exam five years ago when the doctor told me my ab muscles and hips were strong and perfect, that I was made for making babies, and this time, when the word "abnormal" kept ringing in my head.

A huge difference.

What a fucking day.

Maybe this'll be like that time the eye doctor told me I would go blind, and art school was a stupid idea for someone who was going to go blind, and then years later I found out he was wrong. Right?

black sheeped