So last week I got a call her from her on the biopsies...
Positive for endometriosis.
If you aren't familiar with endometriosis and don't feel like getting all clinical on that link above- it basically means my uterus is loco.
When my doctor gave me the news, I felt like highfiving her through the phone, setting off fireworks, and riding through the town on my black stallion while waving a flag that read "SCREW YOU, MOTHER FUCKERS! I KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH ME!"
It was a huge relief after feeling like shit for two years and going through test after test for the past year. And with every follow up appointment, hearing "Everything looks good. No abnormalities", I wanted to punch a hole in the wall. This news was especially victorious when I remembered back to a certain someone who had the nerve to not only discount my pain, but also say "I think it's all in your head. If you didn't expect to feel bad every month, then it wouldn't happen." Well now, I think we all know that wasn't the case.
So after Biscuit and I did the Mambo #5 around the living room and I came down from my adrenaline delerium, I had a moment of WTF. I'd done enough
None of these options sounded particularly appetizing to me. I had a freakout or two. But with the help of boyfriend reminding me to stay strong like Donkey Kong, I'm back to feeling good about it. The way I look at it, if I happen to get pregnant I get little mini TILTE's to dress in vintage thrift store finds, and take to afternoon tea, and watch them fall in love with Judge Judy, just like me. If kids aren't in my future, I get to sleep in for the rest of my life, never have to find a sitter when I want to go out, never be able to commiserate with friends who passive-aggressively bitch about how miserable motherhood is, and never go nine months without alcohol or Advil. It's a win-win, really.
On a separate, but somewhat related note... I got a tattoo.
Yes, it's real. More on this to come.