I've been thinking about this lonely little blog as of late. I've been thinking about it in a listless, half nostalgic sort of way that has yet to motivate me to log back in and write. Then this woman stopped by. She comment on my tragic New Year's Even post. She reminded me, though not directly, that I'm gratuitously taking up space in the blogosphere while contributing very little to that greater good. Nine months. Nine? Really? I'm a busy woman, but that's pretty lame. So here you go... (mom, since I'm pretty sure you're still the only person who reads this stuff verbatim).
I had a rough spring, medically speaking. It was the first time in nearly seven years that I wasn't boarding a plane headed somewhere different every three weeks. It was also about six months after wrapping up grad school. I told myself that this perfect storm, this gift of time, must be dedicated to sorting out issues I'd been willfully avoiding. Scary issues. Like issues of malfunctioning lady bits.
I wish a fond farewell to all the men who just clicked off this screen and back to Facebook. Thanks for making it this far. That's cool. Nothing is getting graphic, but whatev. Ladies that are left, I don't need to tell you how disorienting and quietly scary it can be to go through medical issues like this. You can have 1,482 supportive people surrounding you every day, but you remain uniquely aware that you are still, somehow, going through it completely alone.
Going through what? Well, I'm actually glad I'm writing this nine months later and not in the moment. The time lapse has put it all in perspective and boiled it down to a soundbite. You don't need details, Internet, you don't want them. The short version is that I was dealing with an issue that triggered a legitimate cancer scare. The longest two weeks of my life were spent waiting for the results of three different biopsies to come back. The longest three months of my life were spent pumping handfuls of supplements three times a day in an attempt to bounce back from intense, severe anemia.
My iron levels are back to normal - for the first time in five in years, as it turns out. My biopsies were benign. My IUD is firmly in place and doing it's job quite well. The aftermath has left me wondering, for the first time in my life, if having biological children of my own matters to me. My doctor and I worked to essentially close up shop, in what I'm told is a reversible way, in order to save my health and allow me to move on with an active, full life. Being a single woman in her early 30s, this possibly-reversible-possibly-not situation is an interesting reality to face. I've never dreamed of a big family. It's not really my thing. But I've also never sat with the reality that it may not even be a possibility regardless. It's a weird position to be in.
So, World, that's my somewhat ironic memory of a season known for her fertility and renewal. Now, summer...