|
|
2000-09-01 - 02:25:44 I'm listening to Joan Baez, and she always makes me feel so damned...well...womanly. Even "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" (which is more accurately The Band) makes me feel womanly, even though she's singing about being a man. So I started to have womanly thoughts. If you're a dude and you can't handle womanly things, please skip this entry. I've been on the rag for more than a month. I think I am going to bleed to death. Slowly. I told Badger recently in a conversation that I can't lie. He said, "What happens? Do you implode?" "No," I replied. "I start my period. So once I month I HAVE to tell a lie, just to keep my body regular." So I must have been lying a LOT lately. When I'm not on the dreadful pill, I naturally have my period once every nine months. Most chicks would be saying "HELL YEAH!" It's not that great. It's unpredictable as hell, I formerly kept E.P.T. in business all by my lonesome, and when I *DO* have my period, it lasts forever. And there's this great product called Instead. It's an alternative to a pad or a tampon. Great invention. You can wear it for 12 hours. It's a little cup. And why do I love it so much? Because you can have sex with it in, and the guy never even knows it's bitch time. Great, eh? Not that I've gotten any use out of THAT lately...but I keep using it, and keep taking my birth control pills... So I went to the doctor to find out what was wrong with me. He promptly put me on the pill. A few years later, I went to another doctor to find the answers. He did some tests. And put me back on the pill. I went back for the results a month later. This was at a large, impersonal clinic. My new doctor was obese. And reeked of cigarette smoke. I felt like this was similar to going to restaurant with a skinny chef. Dr. New thumbed through my files with his stubby, fat fingers. "So, did you get this chlamydia cleared up?" "WHAT?! CHLAMYDIA?!? No one ever said ANYTHING about CHLAMYDIA?!" He left to check the results. And left me in the waiting room for 20 minutes. Alone. Cursing my boyfriend-at-the-time (Harry) for being a cheating, no good, infected sumbitch. He finally returned. "Oh, nevermind. Wasn't chlamydia. Dr. Old thought that might be causing your problems. Was negative." I was horrified. For one, that Dr. Old had thought I MIGHT have chlamydia and never breathed a word to me about it. For two, that fat Dr. New left me raging in a room by myself after callously tossing the word around. Turned out, they didn't know what was wrong with me either. They just told me to keep taking my pills like a good girl, since that seemed to regulate me. The last time I tried to find out what was wrong with me, they put me on the pill....again. Seems the only thing doctors know how to do is relieve the symptoms, not the cause. And I really don't want a period, thanks. I just want to know that I could possibly be fertile if the opportunity ever arose and that I'm not gonna die of not having a period. But now I'm on the pill and having my period for more than a month. I'm a little concerned. I start back on the "real pills" (as opposed to the little green placebo you take for a week while you're on the rag) on Sunday. Hopefully it will go away. I don't have insurance. I need to go to the doctor. Before I slowly leak to death.
|