reader’s digest version: 10 years off the market and i found myself completely  clueless about virtually everything dating related or if i would even be attractive to anyone at 34, when the last time i was open for business i was a nubile 24 year old with a temp job and questionable decision making skills.

but at the time, my breakup wounds were fresh, and the actual dating conundrum could wait. i avoided thinking about it. i shopped my way through the move into the bachelor hole. i focused my attentions on the happiness and well being of my true life partner, kazuki.

but here we are 5 months later, and things are all kinds of unexpectedly different (except for kazuki being my soul mate. that’s forever).

i’ll start by telling you a little story about something that happened a few weeks ago:

as a single dog parent, i take a lot of walks. at least 3 a day, every day, regardless of the weather. and as i have perhaps mentioned on an occasion or 12, my dog is a LOOKER.  this means that i get stopped on the street. a lot.

“what kind of dog is that?”

“your dog looks like a fox.”

“is that one of those shima emus?”

and usually, it’s grade school children or elderly men.  but every now and again, it’s actually a cute boy (i’m talking to you adorable neighborhood dude with the golden doodle).

so a few weeks ago, i ran into my cute next door neighbor on his way to work. he asked me the standard dog questions and introduced himself. it was very much a non-event.

a couple of weeks later, on my night time walk, i ran into him again. this time, we chatted for a bit. he sort of interviewed me in a way that seemed suspicious.

“what do you do for fun?”

“what kind of books do you like?”

“how long have you lived in portland?”

and then. there it was.

“are you single?”

it probably would have been inappropriate, but i sort of wanted to do a victory lap around the block waving my arms like a muppet and screaming “HOLY SHIT I’M DATABLE!”. sure, his approach was a little aggressive for my taste, and i wasn’t sure we had much in common, but he was verifiably not gross, and thought i was cute even in my sweatpants with dirty hair.

but back to my response to friendly stranger’s question of “are you single?”

my answer: “single-ish.”

at which point i would go on to babble about how he was very cute and seemed nice, but that i was seeing someone at the moment, and i wanted to see where it went. i think i actually used the phrase “i’m a one-at-a-time kind of girl”.

he told me to friend him on facebook, but defeated, was swiftly on his way.

i didn’t lie to friendly stranger.

i’m usually pretty quiet about the details of my relationships, but since i promised you all a dating story, i figure i’ll give you at least a little. the “sorta someone” is an old boyfriend from college who moved away after we broke up, and is back in town after a few years on the other coast. we reconnected when he followed me on twitter (classy). it was extremely unintentional, but there was still a thing. also, he’s a dog owning vegan who wants to get his MFA in writing (poetry on his side). so we randomly developed some things in common over the last 10 years since we’ve been in contact. it’s pretty sweet. but also, pretty new. and that’s probably the last i’ll say about it unless anything really monumental happens.

although i do feel a little guilty about not being able to go on any bad internet dates like i promised.

i don’t feel at all guilty about turning down friendly stranger. i did actually friend him on facebook, and literally 2 days after he asked me out (and one day after he sent me some completely shameless and quasi inappropriate shirtless pics), he was declaring his love for his new girlfriend. and i mean like straight up using the L-word, changing his timelines photo to her face, and using lots and lots and lots of these: <3 <3 <3 <3. far too many for a grown man as far as i am concerned.

dodged that bullet. also, vegan dog guy is totally cuter and has better taste in books.

when i was in 2nd grade, i quit girl scouts because i didn’t like being forced to sell cookies. in 5th grade, i quit trick or treating because it felt too much like solicitation. despite the fact that everyone loves girl scout cookies, and virtually every person in america has a bowl of candy at the ready on halloween, i couldn’t shake the dirtiness of asking someone to give me something- or worse, BUY SOMETHING!

it’s kind of my worst non-dismemberment related fear. like twitchy cold sweat vomit grade fear.

so here we are at IKEA bus time again, and we have 27 people signed up for a bus that holds 50. and on the inside, i’m all like OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT. but then again, i don’t actually want to ask anyone to to buy a ticket. or flood my facebook and twitter feeds with plugs for my little project. so i’m sort of at a stalemate.

so my decision was to try and overcome my fear in the least invasive and annoying way i could think of- a short and to the point blog post. just one more before i give up, pat myself on the back, and say “hey, 27 people is still pretty sweet. you’re gonna have a kick ass time”.

so here it is.

5 easy reasons why the IKEA bus is a very  excellent way to spend $35

1. you don’t have to strap anything to the roof of your ford fiesta with ikea twine and then have a panic attack on the highway hoping it doesn’t fall off and cause a massive 50 car pileup. small car? no car? distinct lack of bungee cords? we’ve got both a u-haul and some strapping young dudes from the fine moving establishment of local muscle who will get your shit back to portland with no hassle to you. and if you live in the city of portland, we will deliver!

2. SNACK PACKS! this year’s configuration of local snackables will include goods from the following: capt’n eli’s soda, wicked whoopies, mac’s kettle corn, and some other surprise stuff that is (surprise!) a surprise.

3. you’ll get treated like the goddamn princess that you are. so along with not having to lug your own boxes and getting a lot of awesome local snacks, you will also have the following: morning donuts & coffee (via tony’s donuts and coffee by design), in flight movies (suggestions welcome!), and i was told by VIP charter coaches that we would most likely get WIFI!

4. you probably need storage. and by probably, i mean definitely. and IKEA storage is both really inexpensive and really attractive. basically, you’ll get cute furniture AND you’ll have an awesome time.

5. because $35 is virtually nothing for an entire day of friends, movies, snacks, donuts, browsing, buying, and bringing home. when last i checked, a greyhound round trip ticket to boston was $44, and didn’t come with snacks. although it might come with a bus station groping if you’re really lucky.

so yeah. there’s my pitch. and if you hate sweden and particle board, maybe you know someone who doesn’t. or maybe you know someone who loves donuts and needs to buy a new couch  but only has $300 and no way to get it home. i’m still gonna rock out with my current 27 bus peeps no matter what, but another 10-20 would only make the party more awesome. (spread the good word) (please) (or don’t) (no pressure).

but there is an equally scandalous V word that i have been keeping a bit of a secret lately- VEGAN.

now, i’ve been a vegetarian for almost 5 years now- and that’s no big deal. and for the entirety of that 5 year period, i’ve clutched desperately to my dairy and eggs. oh, i’ll get cage free. oh, i’ll get local. oh, i’m pretty sure that’s responsibly farmed. and i did it not necessarily because i really believed those things i was telling myself, but because cheese and eggs and butter are so ungodly delicious, that i couldn’t fathom giving them up. not ever.

this last week’s rainy days made me think a lot about how i became a vegetarian in the first place.

when i was 4 or 5, on warm wet days when the worms crawl out on the sidewalks, i would stop and pick up every single worm stranded in a heavily foot trafficked area and move it gently to the grass so nobody would step on it. it’s weird really, i hate the animal planet channel, won’t watch talking animal movies, and frisky cat photos do very little for me. but, the idea of those worms getting smushed was too much for my little grade school heart to bear. it’s still too much. i rescued no fewer than 6 worms last week. i hope they’re ok.

and then at some point in my 20s (many rainy days later), i was jogging the back bay- and i came across a field mouse bisected by a bicycle tire, and i burst into hysterical tears. and maybe i was premenstrual. or overtired. or maybe it was just because field mice are really cute. but that was the day that i realized that dead animals make me sad. and slowly, this sentiment would inch its way onto the dinner table, and i would give up all the meats (including the sea meats). even bacon.

but never veganism. no way. veganism was for smug preachy types. veganism was for people who didn’t see the divinity in extra sharp cheddar cheese and perfectly poached eggs. veganism was for soulless masochists who hate food.

never.

not me.

until it happened.

and i’m still not entirely sure what, but a couple of months ago i just woke up and realized that i was ready. sure, i’d always realized/thought/felt that if animals were used for production farming, there was the possibility for exploitation. i knew this, i felt bad about it, but i was unwilling to give up my beloved butter (oh god butter). i fantasized about going vegan the way you fantasize about winning the lottery. sure it would be great, but it’s never really going to happen.

but then all of the sudden it did. unlike the slow creep of vegetarianism, the veganism decision just snapped.

well, sort of. the decision was made, and then i decided that i would do a 50 item farewell tour of dairy and eggs. on last orgy of pizza and eggs benedict. one last make out session with buttered popcorn and chocolate milk. but as i planned the orgy, the list kept getting shorter. it seemed too decadent, too selfish. how could i enjoy it when my personal ethics dictated that it was wrong?

the list went from 42 items at its height, to zero in about 3 days. suddenly, i was vegan with no food in the house.

as you well know by now, i enjoy shopping my way through transition. $150 in two days at 3 different grocery stores (damn you whole foods!).

but imagine how much money i saved by not having the dairy orgy! (yeah, i’m logical)

i had myself well convinced that i NEEDED it to shepherd me through the transition. and even more specifically, that i needed a bunch of comfort food. thanks to this fantastic comprehensive list, i was able to spend my $150 on swedish fish and ritz crackers. a loaf of white bread and a tub of earth balance. lorna doone cookies and fake beef jerky. not a single vegetable was purchased.

i ate nothing but sugar and starch for over a week. starburst jellybeans. munchos. i probably shouldn’t be alive.

a month and a half later, i’m actually doing ok.  it’s forcing me to think about things like protein, and to stay home and cook instead of going eating out (i can pretty much only eat at silly’s and the green elephant now anyway). but i’m still such an amateur. i keep fucking up (i asked for no fish sauce on my drunken noodled, but forgot to say NO EGG- and then i ate it without thinking?!). i’m slowly learning what animal ingredients are hiding in my food (l-cytesine is in my dunkin donuts bagel, but is made out of DUCK FEATHERS- WTF?!), but usually after i’ve purchased them. but i have learned a few things (which will hopefully be joined by more things over time):

1. there actually are a lot of vegan foods that taste amazing (no twigs and berries here). here is my shrine (suggestions welcome!).

2. you can totally make an amazing vegan grilled cheese with daiya cheddar (so not cheddary on its own) and yellow mustard. and it’s only been a month and a half, so you’re damn straight i remember what real cheese tastes like.

3. there is a company named melissa that makes vegan shoes that smell like bubblegum.

4. hell yeah vegan stoner.

5. hell no vegan prawns.

despite the fact that i’ve just adopted this fairly radical eating style, i would like to assure you that this blog is not about to become a vegan conversion factory with PETA grade animal slaughter images. not my style. do i wish that more people felt like i did about animal rights? sure. but, i feel like people need to find their own paths. this is mine, and (as far as i’m concerned) it’s not fair for me to assume that it is right for anyone other than me. so don’t worry. this blog is still just me being stupid and messy and crazy (although if anyone out there has some vegan pro tips that they’d like to share- BRING IT ON).

in fact, there is a DATING POST coming up later this week. just you wait.

this year, because i like to mix things up a little, i’m giving last year’s price of $30 a ticket for 1 WEEK ONLY. if you buy a ticket after 4/24, you’ll have to pay an extra $5. i have some ideas for snacks and in-flight movies, but i definitely need to get some more suggestions going on. i’m also hoping to work out a truck situation with some sexy local movers, but i haven’t nailed that one down quite yet. either way, there will be a truck (so now is your chance to buy a couch!) and free donuts. and fun. you don’t want to miss out on the fun. so get your ticket going RIGHT NOW, and start making your wish list.

at this point, the only major pain was in the gaps between pills if i overslept or forgot. i can’t tell you how many times during those first few days i couldn’t remember whether or not i actually took my pill or not. sort of like those groggy mornings where you can’t remember if you shampooed your hair or not. unfortunately, i would have to err on the side of not taking the pill at all- rather than take a double dose. poisoning myself is a slightly greater concern than too squeaky hair.

but then on tuesday, i sort of woke up. mostly lucid for the first time in days, my first thought was- WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH MY MOUTH?

again, if you’re about to bite into a big sandwich or you want to ask me out on a date- now is the time to debark the story.

now, imagine that you’ve been bedridden  for 4+ days doing nothing but sip juice and pop pills to stay alive. when you finally do wake up and realize that you haven’t brushed your teeth since friday (now tuesday), and that there are some sort of gummy particles falling off your tongue. a quick mirror check will reveal that your entire mouth is covered in crusty white blobs.

a panicked bout of vigorous teeth and tongue brushing would result in the following:

1. a sink full of blood.

2. a tongue mostly devoid of tastebuds.

a panicked call to my doctor yields another doctor’s appointment and a prescription for a vile tasting viscous yellow liquid that i’m supposed to “swish and swallow”, but that i immediately barf into the sink instead. i make the compromise of squirting it on my tongue in tiny microdoses, and hoping that some of it eventually makes its way into my throat. it seems to be working.

on a hilarious sidenote, i decide to walk to the cvs a few blocks away to pick up my prescription and to get some fresh air. at one point in my life, i distinctly remember swearing that i would never go out in public in my pajama pants. so to anyone who saw someone who looked like me, in a pair of blue and white striped sweatpants shuffling drunkenly down forest ave on wednesday afternoon- YOU SAW NOTHING. but seriously, for a brief moment in time, i was officially one of the creepy/crazy people at the pharmacy that you actively try to avoid.

but back to our story…

while i’m battling it out with my disgusting mouth infection, i notice something else strange. despite being able to finally down more than just juice (though not much more), and despite dutifully taking the “stool softeners” twice a day, i have not pooped for 5 days. i panic.

i also start having low grade fevers (100ish degrees) in the gaps between my pills. and then as soon as take the pills i am jetted into menopause worthy hot flashes/sweats. i panic some more.

when i call my doctor to follow up on these new and alarming symptoms, she promises that she will call my surgeon to check and make sure there is nothing to worry about. she never calls back.

the next day, i call. i think the pills make me extra crazy and frantic, because every time i try to talk to a medical professional who doesn’t give me a straight answer, i fall apart. i cried on the phone no fewer than 3 times in 2 days. i’m positive that the front desk lady at my doc’s office has written: EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE somewhere on my chart. i should probably find a new doctor after this.

a direct email to the surgeon yielded a more satisfactory result. i guess “post embolization syndrome” is a thing where you get a fever while your fibroids are dying. because i had so many big ‘uns, i guess i get extra fever fun days. i am told not to worry about the pooping. it will “work itself out”. GROSS.

well, it’s been 10 days. and for the first time since the morning before my surgery, i actually feel like a normal person. i did dishes. i changed my sheets. i took my dog for a walk in the sunshine. i ate peanut butter cups for lunch.

now that my pain is under control and my tastebuds have started to grow back, i guess the biggest problem i will face for up to the next month is the intermittent exhaustion. i’ll feel totally normal for a while, and then i’ll have to go lie down for 2 hours. i’m scared to start work tomorrow. i’m scared to go to the grocery store. as much as i want to launch back into my old go-go lifestyle right now, i know i’m not quite cooked yet. one really good day is great, but it’s still only one day.

consider this the temporary end of my vile little fairy tale. i know it was probably awkward and embarrassing to read, but i wanted to make sure that anyone who goes through this surgery actually knows how it is. obviously, it is different for everyone, but my ridiculous account is at least better than: I almost knew immediately that the procedure had made a difference. It was night and day. (fuck you testimonial lady)

i have no idea if it worked. i lost 6 pounds, and my abdomen is still as hard and protruding and lopsided as ever. i definitely have to pee less- which is pretty weird, because i thought that was just something about me that was unchangeable. but it will take at least 2-6 months before i know if it worked at all. i’ll let you know.

but maybe for now, we could think about something else for a while.

FUCK THAT.

as you can see from the above title, my rose colored glasses got ripped off my face on friday morning, and immediately smashed into powder. perhaps someone spit on them for emphasis. when the only other choice is hysterectomy, and you’re 34 years old and not ready to potentially catapult yourself into premature menopause… it isn’t really a choice. and truthfully, despite the fact that i’m just now starting to not be completely bedridden, it’s still probably the choice that i would have made. but seriously… WHY DIDN’T SOMEBODY TELL ME?!

if you have a weak stomach, are eating at the present, or possibly might be interested in having sex with me someday… i would recommend not reading any further. however, if your uterus looks like a little like this, and you’re not ready to have that fucker removed completely…  here is what you might be in for. 

now, i should probably preface this whole shebang by saying once again that i have 5 fibroids of SIGNIFICANT size. like grapefruits or softballs. many women who get this procedure done have much smaller fibriods and as a result, probably less pain and complication.

FRIDAY:
friday was actually pretty much what i expected. got to the hospital, checked in, was given some sack like unflattering garments to wear (am i the only one who wonders how many people have died in those johnnies?). was told to put all of my belongings in big pink garbage bags bearing the logo of the hospital (they did not find my “just like getting out of prison” joke very funny). had to pee in a cup and give them some blood (not pregnant! wait? um… my uterus is covered in tumors and has been spewing blood for MONTHS- did they really need to check? not exactly a hospitable environment for life). got suited up for my IV. got wheeled into surgery. cried a bunch. declared that i wanted both my mom and my dog. blacked out.

AND WOKE UP.

conscious sedation is kind of awesome. something really terrible could be happening (like having a camera jammed down your throat, or getting cut open and having a tube threaded through one of your major arteries), and you wouldn’t know a damn thing. you might ask questions or drift in and out of consciousness. or, you might lay there and be wide awake the entire time. it’s weird, but i definitely felt no pain.

well, i felt no pain until the procedure was almost over and the magic started to happen. the magic of INFARCTION! this is what happens when otherwise happy living tissue loses its blood supply and starts to die. necrose, if you want to use all your fancy t.v. doctor speak. and speaking of t.v. doctors… an infarction (of the quadriceps muscle) is EXACTLY why house m.d. is a cranky old vicodin addict who walks with a cane.

star wipe to a 24 hour montage of me intermittently begging for death and pressing that hydromorphone button before blacking out for another 8 minutes. i would press that button every 8 minutes until my bags were packed and they were shutting down the “short stay” ward for the weekend.

your doc is correct when he says that it feels like really severe menstrual cramps. your ability to imagine how severe menstrual cramps could possibly get is WOEFULLY INADEQUATE.

at least i didn’t have to be catheterized. i did have to use a bedpan at one point (a little humiliating, but passable in the drug addled moment). you’re not allowed to move for 4 hours after the surgery, yet the meds make you thirsty as hell, and have to pee like a motherfucker. i would spend the rest of the night dragging my IV stand into the tiny bathroom in my room every half hour or so. unremarkable, except that there was this pan in the toilet bowl so they could measure how much i was peeing.

i don’t know if it was the narcotics or the pain, but when i peed a lot, i felt a little bit proud.

they sent me home with some giant fucking horse percoset, some anti-nausea meds, and some colace (because apparently narcotics make it hard to poop- more on that later!). and it was probably just the remains of the day long pain button orgy,  but the first percoset seemed to do the trick. i go a couple of cookies and some applesauce down the hatch, and passed out for a few hours… UNTIL I WOKE UP IN THE MOST UNGODLY UNBEARABLE PAIN I HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED.

horse percoset ≠pain relief in the world of fibroid infarction. especially if you’re me.

i spent the entirety of saturday night in a half fever delirium of sweating and abdomen clutching.

ever polite, i waited until 7 am to call a friend (thanks zak, you were an awesome nurse!) to take me to emergency room. because if there was one thing i needed more than more hydromorphone (which they would eventually give me), it was ANOTHER IV hole in my arm (i had 6 puncture wounds by the end of this ordeal). i also got myself a sweet abdominal x-ray out of the deal. still not sure why. TERRIFIED of hospital bills.

but like i said, they sent me home with the good shit, so the next couple of days were blurry.

so let’s leave it there for now. me, sweating quietly in my blanket nest, waiting for my next 4 hour dosage.  but you’ll have to tune into tomorrow for the exciting and revolting conclusion of “uterine artery embolization is horrible and disgusting”.

when last we met, i was about to go in for an MRI to see if the embolization surgery was the right option for me. and the good news/short story is that i am. my surgery is scheduled for the 6th, and the grapefruit reign of terror will soon be over. assuming that is that you think 2-6 months means soon, and that 40-60% reduction means over.

some things i learned during the MRI process:

1. if the intake nurse is worried that she’ll “jinx it” by telling you that she’s good at inserting IV lines, she’s probably not very good at it. 2 painful punctures and a lot of crying later- she had to go get the lady who can insert an IV on a baby. 45 seconds and virtually no pain later, i was in business. next time, i will ask for that lady up front.

2. if the intake nurse stabs you a bunch of times and makes you cry, the MRI tech will do virtually anything to shut you up. that includes piping radiolab into the headphones that drown out the noise of the machine.

3. the machine is really fucking loud. and they put your chest in a plastic cage and you can’t move, and sometimes you aren’t even supposed to breathe. in general, this would make for a long hour. however, if you are lucky enough to have taken an ativan during the intake, this part does not seem too bad.

but that’s over now. now all i need to do is GET PUMPED for the procedure. i’ve been trying hard not to google too much, but there aren’t really any answers to what i want to know anyway. like “when will the abdominal bloating go away” and “do i really need to be catheterized?” it seems that people only write about their personal experiences with uterine artery embolization if something either went really wrong, or they’re writing a testimonial for a doctor’s website. not exactly the most helpful cross section…

i’ve been busying myself by buying “sick supplies” like crackers, a blender, and a space foam pad for my bed. i also maybe accidentally spent $100 on books at amazon.com. oh, and i should probably mention the hot pink sweatpants with LOVE written across the butt in glitter (they were on sale).

but the biggest problem that i’ve been encountering through all this pre-surgery busy-ness is the overwhelming fatigue. these fibroids are essentially stealing all my blood! according to my MRI, there are no fewer than 5 fibroids of “significant” size (ranging from grapefruit to golf ball). the big problem is that they are both causing me to lose blood (probably TMI, but it has been shark week FOR LIKE A MONTH), AND the blood that they are not expelling, they are hoarding in their giant hard engorged tumor bodies. wow. that’s gross. but true!

these bitches are stealing all my blood and i feel like i’m dying a little. my usually perky on 4-6 hours a night self can’t be satisfied with even 9 hours. and when i do sleep, i’m waking up every 2 hours to pee (did i mention that there is a grapefruit sitting directly on my bladder?), or because of the stabbing stabbing back pain. i even had to stop sitting on my balance ball at work. i am the living dead. i can essentially get up (barely), walk the dog, go to work, come home, and curl up on the couch until it’s time for bed.

it’s not that i don’t want to write. i think about it every day. i just can’t do anything. i’m hoping that after my surgery, i’ll wake back up again. you know, after i’m done vomiting.

i’ve been making a lot of jokes about how i’m going to live tweet my surgery. but maybe that’s only hilarious to me. but anyway, i’ll keep you posted.

maybe, we could go shopping.

and we’re not just going to go shopping. we’re going to go shopping for CHEAP, and we’re going to go shopping for a GOOD CAUSE.

southern maine dress for success needs your help!  in the midst of a pretty serious reorganization, they’re finding themselves with an excess of donated clothing and an almost complete lack of funding. it’s sad to see such a cool organization struggling to make ends meet- especially when it’s needed so much in this bunk economy. but we can help them out in the best way we know how- SHOPPING.

they’re having a big ass fundraising sale on saturday from 9-1 (details to the left), and the very best thing you can to do support their organization to come with dollars ready (or plastic. or checkbook. i was informed by amanda from misadventures in portland that the only thing they don’t accept is barter- so leave those chickens at home!) and a desire to score yourself some awesome new clothes (starting at $5!).

i will be there personally elbowing my way to the front of the handbag section, and i’ll be putting my scores up on the facebooks (showboating will be done). you should probably come and make sure that i don’t take ALL the good stuff.

i am not an animal!

have you ever seen one of those “i didn’t know i was pregnant” tv shows where the lady doesn’t know she’s pregnant until she’s in the delivery room with what she thinks is appendicitis? well, i have. so imagine that you’re me. imagine that you’ve seen A LOT of those types of programs, and that you’re also kind of a hypochondriac. you’ve sworn off web md entirely because maybe it gives you panic attacks sometimes.

now, imagine that you’ve noticed that your abdomen (despite some recent weight loss) has become quite bloated. and when you press on it, you feel something hard and round. imagine that when you lay on your back and look at your stomach, it is notably distended to one side. you might ask a friend or two to palpate your uterus area. you might start palpating your own uterus area obsessively, and work yourself into an anxious frenzy imagining that there is a baby or a tumor or a dinosaur egg in there.

but that’s crazy, right?

i had my yearly physical coming in two weeks, and i spent the entire time bouncing back and forth between utter panic, and feeling like a idiot for thinking that anything at all was wrong (with panic winning out in the final few days). i almost went to the emergency room on at least 3 occasions.

but it’s probably nothing.

finally in the paper dress (and not wanting to sound complete lunatic), i downplayed my concern and waited until my feet were in the stirrups to request an expert uterine palpation.

she paused.

“well, there’s definitely something hard in there.”

i burst into tears.

“well, let’s do the exam, and then we’ll send you to the ultrasound lab.”

the speculum wouldn’t stay in because something big and hard kept shoving it out. (i imagine it went something like this)

i sobbed while i put my clothes back on and the nurse left to go make the ultrasound appointment.

having your abdomen repeatedly squirted with bracingly icy gel is not nearly as bad as having an ultrasound technician give you a lesson in converting centimeters to inches while she points to amorphous grey blobs on a television screen. 12 centimeters= 4.724409449 inches. or, roughly the diameter of a standard supermarket grapefruit. did i mention that there were two? actually, there are two of the grapefruit size, and countless others of varying smaller sizes. basically, my uterus looks like the elephant man.

they’re not cancerous, or even harmful (until they’re sitting on top of you bladder or blocking off passage to your vagina or something like that person i know who totally isn’t me), but they’re still GIGANTIC TUMORS lurking inside my abdomen.

it’s weird to feel claustrophobic in your own body. for years i hadn’t noticed these lumps, quietly swelling and pushing my organs around. but as soon as i knew they were in there- it was all i could feel. suddenly, they hurt. my abdomen was swollen and deformed. i was becoming my lumps. i wanted to tear my own skin off and run into the night.

a hysterical phone call to my doctor produced a prescription for lorazepam and several follow up phone calls from concerned nurses making sure i was ok.

i spent the next week of waiting for a specialist trying to convince myself that reading web md was a bad idea, and then breaking down and reading it anyway. i never actually took the lorazepam, but i probably should have. whether you have them or not, i wouldn’t recommend google image searching “uterine fibroids”.

the cold scandinavian gynecologist informed me that my uterus is the same size as someone who is 18 weeks pregnant. i wasn’t exactly proud, but it did make me feel slightly less bad about my muffin top.

she informed me that i had  3 real options:

1. hysterectomy: i may be 34 and starting over. i may be terrified of having babies inside my body. i may be entirely lacking a biological clock… but it surprised me how quickly i shut down this option. i’m not ready. i won’t do it.

2. myomectomy: basically, it’s a c-section where you give birth to the grapefruits. recovery is no less than 6-8 weeks.

3. uterine artery embolization: they shoot the arteries that feed your uterus with tiny grains of medical grade something something, blocking off blood flow to the uterus. i guess the uterus can get blood from elsewhere, but the fibroids can’t (suckers!). this will kill all of the fibroids in one shot without major surgery. which is cool, except for the part where the fibroids die inside you and the pain is so intense that it will make you throw up.

despite the pain and guaranteed vomiting, i’m going for door #3. i still have to have an MRI on wednesday to make sure that i’m a good candidate, but the rapid recovery (only a week of pain barfing!) and the not getting cut open factor really make this the most desirable option out of three horribly not desirable options.

this is going to be my life for a couple of months, so sorry to bait and switch you with from “i’m single and starting over” to “i’m riddled with produce sized tumors”. but hopefully the content will be equally as embarrassing and awkward as me going speed dating or activating my okcupid account. stay tuned.

p.s. if anyone out there has had fibroids or the embolization surgery, hit me up. i’m terrified, and web md isn’t helping.