To Spay Or Not To Spay.... That Is The Question

It's time to break the silence.

It's time to tell my story.

I mean that not in a oh-my-life-sucks-please-feel-sorry-for-me way. I'm already moving past it. Really. Truly. I mean it completely in a public service information sort of way. People need to speak out against whatever is keeping them trapped and helpless, tangible or not. That's what I want to do here. Speak out. And maybe my Voice will help someone else find their own Voice to speak out.

By the way, there might be a little TMI here. So if you don't want to read about women's issues or anything of that sort, then stop right here. That's right: don't read anything further if reading PMS freaks you right out. Otherwise you're on your own. Last chance to put down the laptop, powerdown that PC and have a coffee break. You know you want to.

For those of you who wanted to stick around (and you know who you are: women, sisters, mothers, friends, those who lack the female sex organs but who are in sympathy with them --your wives, mothers, sisters, girlfriends, cousins, friends): Welcome to My Life.

So, where to start? There's so much, and I don't want to bore anyone. Because yes, there's years of boring here. I'll start with the basics: I got sick. I didn't know I was sick. I found out. Now I'm well on my way to treatment and hopefully permanent return of myself and my body.

There. That's my story. But there's more... so much more.

I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia a couple of years ago. I'm not going to mess with that. Maybe I do have it, maybe I don't. The doctor was satisfied with the diagnosis. I was not. Emphatically not. Because while it was just a puzzle solved for the doc, it left me with the day to day dealing and coping with the ongoing pain and fatigue and, yes, even depression, and struggling to not throw myself off a ledge. I got tired of that struggle and finally found the courage to see another doctor: a gynecologist. (I know, I know; you all thought I was going to say a shrink, right? Maybe I should. Maybe I will. Maybe that's a story for another day....)

The thing is, I had seen a cyclical nature to my symptoms, and it always came back to the hormonal thing. At least that's what I thought. I had mentioned it to a couple of doctors before, but the typical answer was to throw SSRI's at it. I would have been okay with that.... if they worked. I was so tired of feeling so horrible that I would have been happy to have been depressed or have some kind of chemical imbalance that medication could have "cured". But it didn't. And after 7 or 8 different antidepressants over 19... yes, read 'em: 19 years, nothing was different. Not a single thing worked. So, I deduced that if medication aimed at fixing chemical imbalances didn't work, then it was probably NOT a chemical imbalance. I mean, even ONE working could have proved me wrong. (Sorry, I tend to get angry and stuck at this point because of so many years of frustration.) The last 7 years have been the worst by far, and that's when most of the symptoms appeared and most of the drug "trials" took place.

Okay, so it got really bad in 2002. So bad that I gave the narcotics I had for chronic back pain to a friend for safe-keeping because I was worried I would take too many. "Accidentally". And it wasn't about the pain of my back. I felt so tired and depressed and hopeless and helpless... and it never seemed to end. I'm sure it's been said many times--being sick tired of feeling sick and tired. That about sums it up. It took a couple of years to swing back even partially from that point--the state of not wanting to get up in the morning; showers postponed or avoided altogether because the energy output was too great; saving all my energy for those important things like small talk with friends. I didn't think life should be that hard, but I didn't know why.

Let's fast forward to years later. The gynecologist finally saw eye-to-eye with me and agreed that it was worth looking into. (Here's where it's important to pay attention:) Particularly when she found out I had the Depo-Provera injection in 2002. She doesn't advocate it's use. In fact, when I gave her that information, she started scribbling hastily in my file and then put down her pen and said she knew what could help. (Could, not necessarily would. There's a fine line. Believe me. I'd heard it all before too many times.) I learned that while it does work for some women, the depo shot has been found by far too many to have too many bad side effects, so much so that many doctors advise strongly against it.

I wish I had known those doctors back then. The one I had during the administration of the shot pooh-poohed my thought that I had a problem with my hormones. He suggested I take some SSRI or another... didn't matter, whichever. That's been the general feeling in my experience with the medical community: only a women's problem; it's just PMS, not serious... So many people dismiss critical points in other's lives by making the judgement that it's "only PMS", therefore not serious. And this mental block, this attitude I kept coming up against was making me feel shamed--shame that I couldn't control my mood swings, my irritabiltiy, the mind-numbing fatigue, fogginess in my head which made it hard to think or focus on anything.

Bottom line here is that I've been on hormone treatments since summer began to address a hormonal imbalance exacerbated by the Depo-Provera and my fibromyalgia. And it's working.

I'll repeat that so the heavenly choirs can sing in tune: IT'S WORKING!!!

I'm back. Me. The original not-watered down, one-of-a-kind, broke-the-mold-when-they-made-me ME. In all my eccentric neurotic glory. But I'm ME. Again. Which is still kind of nice.

So, to sum up: I had a hormonal imbalance and severe progesterone-intolerance triggered by a hormone contraceptive (a nasty one, at that) which appears now to be eliminated by hormonal treatments. That brings us up to today. When I finally started writing this down. It's taken some time because of the nasty anxiety that has been simmering under the surface for a while and has suddenly burst free of the restraints of the pseudo-depression and has taken over my every waking moment. However, the anxiety is another story for another day. This is about adjusting to being back to myself, anxiety-ridden though I am.

And here's the rest. (Calm thoughts. Deep breath. Okay. I'm okay now.)

A full hysterectomy and oophorectomy is necessary to complete the hormonal treatment to fully and forevermore correct it. Yes, it IS that bad.

This requires a whole new set of coping skills.

My baby boy... my preschool-aged boy who is so quickly growing up is the one and only and last baby I'll ever have. And while I had made the decision to not have any more due to the most horrible pregnancy (and my arch-nemesis: progesterone) and the subsequent catastrophic hormonal upheavals of everything that comes after and is affected by birthing and nursing.... I'm never going to have another one. This is one of the hardest decisions to make and accept, even on the hard days with Evan when he's in all his 3 year old glory with the stubbornness and meltdowns and arguing and whining, because even then he's just so darn cute and special and the ultimate utter light of my life and my whole reason for being right now: No more babies.

So I'm dealing with that. Now, I'm finding out just how invasive this procedure actually is. And it's scaring the heck out of me. In only a few months, I'm getting spayed. (Yes, the same procedure performed on pets is what I'm getting. And oh, I do hope they're not scheduling a vet to do it, but I wouldn't be surprised at all, and you know, it would just fit my life. One more thing: I always knew that my complete and utter support of Bob Barker would come back to bite me in the... well, you know exactly where I'm going to get bitten soon.... That's karma for you.)

My point: if a woman or someone who knows a woman who has issues with the female stuff, go get it checked. And if you're not satisfied, go again. And again. And again.

And while I don't condone violence--normally, that is--if you need to beat some doctor's head on the wall to get him or her to hear you... maybe you should think about it. Sorry. That's me getting all worked up. I'll get over it. Eventually.

Cheers.