You and I have never seen eye to eye, from that fateful summer day we met back in 1986 to just yesterday when you knocked me on my ass with cramps so bad I almost called 911. I'm not sure why you hate me so; I've never done anything particularly bad to you.
Maybe you heard me say I never wanted kids that year after my sister was born, and maybe you took it personally and vowed revenge. Maybe you didn't like the Aleve I used to down like candy to avoid you, or the OrthoNovum and Yasmin I used to take to try and control you. Maybe that's why this month you figured it would be fun to be all late and scare the shit out of me, remind me that I'm an evil whore-slut who hasn't been to the OB/GYN in almost two years, despite the constant pain on my lower right side, and then come on stronger than any cycle I've had since giving birth.
Whatever the reason, I'd like to now raise the white flag, throw in the towel, surrender, give up.
I can't fight you any longer. You've got Mother Nature on your side, and all I have are supplemental hormones and "procedures" and placebos cooked up by "physicians" with god complexes. I thought changing my diet would appease you, but no...it didn't work. I take it you're not a fan of the green smoothies and organic brown rice?
What about exercise? Would that make you happy? If I worked out everyday AND drank the green smoothies, would you forgive me for contemplating unnecessary surgery to rid me of you? Would you stop your reign of terror on my life?
And what if I stopped cursing you, and promised to see a doctor every year and take care of you and not ignore the very clear WARNING: SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH YOUR RIGHT FALLOPIAN TUBE/OVARIES sign you've been sending? Then will you let me be?
I'm tired of the mood swings. And after 21 years, my body is tired of dealing with the pain. OH GOD the pain! The unbearable, vomit-inducing, toe-curling, tear-soaked PAIN! I get it, OK? You're the boss. You're in charge. I defer to you on all issues of reproduction, honestly.
I ask of you just one small favor: please, please, please...just make it stop... and if it's not too much to ask...can you plead with Mother Nature to spare my daughters?
*smooches...not in the mood to be sick*
Staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
Hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
An Open Letter to My Reproductive Organs
More genius from The Jaded NYer
Labels: Babies, Body Wars, Lady Estrogen, Memories, Revelations