Screw you, Bono. I’m not posting your song. You can’t live with or without me anyhow.
This weekend brought to you by the word: Explosion
I made waffles from one of the Pioneer Woman’s recipes. The first time I made them with whole wheat pastry flour, they were amazing. I’ve since run out of wwpf, so I used what was left of my cake flour with a little bit of regular all purpose. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking. Cake flour has very little gluten, therefore doesn’t bind or thicken like regular flour. Waffle batter is fairly thin and drippy anyhow, but without the extra little bit of wheat glue, it spells disaster. One of the waffles erupted over the edges of the waffle iron and flooded the counter, dripped over the the end, and made a nice little puddle on the floor. Manchild was working on something in the garage and ran in when he heard me shouting a long string of expletives. I yell louder when I make a mess than I do when I fall and break myself. He was kind enough to help me with clean-up, and guess what? What was left in the iron turned out to be the most perfect one out of the bunch. I also ran out of vanilla extract, so I used vanilla bean pulp instead. I normally save my beans for special stuff, like making vanilla bourbon or ice cream, so I had almost forgotten how intoxicating their scent is.
This next part is unpleasant, so please stop here to avoid reading about malfunctioning digestive and reproductive organs. Stopping at vanilla seems perfectly reasonable, so I will give you a pass. However, I must continue on for the sake of journaling/therapizing.
Had I slept at all Friday night, I may have had half of a brain to prevent wafflegeddon, but no such luck. I had some unfortunate and disgusting bowel strangeness that left me distressed. Having Crohn’s means it’s not uncommon for me to pass blood along with the normal stuff. It isn’t constant, and it usually isn’t much, so it’s one of those things I’ve just gotten used to. It’s not alarming anymore. I just make a mental note, or enter it into keep so I can report it to my GI dude at follow-ups.
Friday night/early Saturday morning, I felt like I needed to go. That in itself was weird, considering I was pretty much cleaned out. So I did my thing, and I was thinking, “damn, it usually isn’t this difficult…” Finally, we had lift off. The first thing that hit me was dizziness (vasovagal hypotension?), and then secondary to that, the smell of dirty coins. Uh oh. I know that smell. I looked down and yeah, it was straight blood. This was all followed by an intense pressure in my rear end, to the point it made my tailbone ache. I was a little freaked out by it, I pulled manchild out of bed to show him my horror scene (thank your lucky stars each day that you don’t have to live with me). I wasn’t really in pain, just a bit uncomfortable, but the anxiety associated with this was extreme. My brain would have liked to convince me I was dying. Shut up, brain! No one asked you.
I’m a pro at talking myself down from panic attacks and rationalizing what’s going on as no big deal. One of these times I’m going to ignore something dire and suffer the consequences. I suppose death being the worst thing that can possibly happen is mildly comforting. It’s not like squirting blood out of various orifices will snuff out the sun and destroy the solar system as we know it. I know just enough to be dangerous to myself, though. This is one of the reasons I’m inclined to play dumb with doctors, except there are those who know better and they ask for my input.
It could have been a prolapsed hemorrhoid, although I’ve never been told I have hemorrhoids. I’d be surprised if I didn’t. Maybe it isn’t mentioned because it’s obvious. The pressure lasted for about 12 hours, and then I was fine. My next actual go-time was slightly blood-tinged, but otherwise normal. My husband assumes that an ulcer in my descending or sigmoid colon started to bleed, then thanks to gravity, drained the only way it could. My guts took a ton of abuse this past week, so I’ll blame the doctors for this one. 😉
That was fun, but let’s not do that again, okay colon? I know you’re angry, but you’ve got to work through your shit like everyone else.
I have a lady doctor appointment coming up soon, and I was told to keep a ‘menstrual diary’ to determine how much blood I’m actually losing during menstruation. I was quite happy while my uterus was in stasis for two years. I really can’t afford the extra blood loss, between anemia of iron deficiency, anemia of chronic disease, and an acquired clotting disease that makes me bleed like I’m playing a part in Kill Bill. There are things that can be done for menorrhagia. Uncomfortable things, like endometrial ablation or hysterectomy. I must be crazy if I believe I’d rather have my uterus removed than take progesterone. I don’t deny it. Send me to the Psychiatrist, already. I’ve had enough. I’m too old and fucked up to squeeze one out, so I won’t miss it at all.
After logging for 7 days, I had estimated my loss to be 254ml. That’s a little over a cup. Considering my periods last an average of 15 days, I would guess it’s somewhere around 400ml. Anything over 80ml total is considered “heavy”. I think I’ve got that covered. I also have mid-cycle bleeding that lasts for a couple of days, sooo, I essentially bleed out of some hole every single day of the month. Fuck being a woman. I’m done! Get this evil beast out of me! I do take ddavp/desmopressin to help with this, but I haven’t been told how soon I should take it after I start. Like, if I take it too soon, will I retain too much endometrial lining and end up with giant elephant sized clots? Or lady part cancer? Why do I never think of these questions when I’m talking to an actual doctor? Oh, that’s right. They usually don’t have answers for me. I’m so alone. Boo hoo.