Jan 26 2006
Those of the male persuasion should avoid this post (unless they are completely comfortable with bleeding vagina talk)
Glory Glory Hallelujah!
The longest period in the history of menstruation is OVER.
But let me back up a little….
As you may already know, I’m done having children. I’m also done breastfeeding. Done done done. Which made it necessary to think of birth control. I laughed - HA - at that because I’ve not been on birth control for many, many years. I used some in the year before Bill and I got married which may well have been a big ol’ waste of money because me getting pregnant requires a lot of work and the sacrifice of small animals into an active volcano and those sorts of things. We got married in 1993 so as you can see, it’s been a looong time.
Here I am, age 41, five kids. I have been tempted to just say “what the heck” and not use anything. I figure as long as we don’t sacrifice any small animals into any active volcanoes, we’re probably not going to get pregnant. I have, however, seen many a 40-something new mommy who got burned by that same train of thought so I decided I’d better cover my bases (but if I DID get pregnant, she would surely be a beautiful little girl and we’d name her Hazel).
Birth control… bottles and pills and injections and contraptions and simple procedures. What’s a girl to do? I’d considered tubal ligation. It seems the most reliable method and it’s a one-time shot - once it’s done, it’s DONE. But… it’s so, um, so PERMANENT. Now, my pointing that little factoid out might make you doubt my earlier exclamation about doneness! I’m done! No more children! I’ve had the same thoughts. So, of course, I had to go find another reason to avoid the tube tying.
Fortunately, this wasn’t difficult. Doctor Google helped me. While the medical community doesn’t validate it, there are many women who believe in something called Post Tubal Libation Syndrome. I’d heard bits and pieces of this before but now it had a NAME. Evidently, it’s responsible for a myriad of things, including premature menopause, osteoporosis, increased rates of heart disease, unorganized closets, unpruned gardens, and even that ugly brown fat around your hips and abdomen.
None of those things scared me much, but I also read that many women felt their little surgery affected their sex drives. THIS terrified me. As I’ve mentioned before, I am married to the horniest man in the universe. My sex drive pales in comparison. Could I chance losing what little I have? No, I say. A thousand times no. So tubal ligation was out.
Left to consider: patches that stick on my torso, devices inserted into my uterus, pills to remember to pop daily, shots, and even natural family planning. I was all ready to go the route of the IUD but then was reading about the strings and positioning and stuff like that and I was a little less enamored of the solution. I mean, I want it to be all the way UP there - completely. I didn’t like the thought of bits of it hanging out. I think I’d feel like a Tiffany lamp or something. “What does this string do?” (yeah, I know - don’t talk to me of tampons, OK?)
I spoke to my doctor - a new doctor I hadn’t seen before because my old doctor was an idiot (yes, I can say now that I let an idiot deliver my five daughters). Because I have PCOS, he made a recommendation of a certain brand of daily pill. It’s called Yasmin and it’s supposed to have benefits for PCOS women. Something about controlling the male hormone we make too much of and therefore controlling some of the symptoms. Hey, I’m all for anything that helps with the blasted chin hair so I jumped on it. Yes, I said, yes - Yasmin is my new birth control of choice!
My doctor also said “I can set you up with 12 weeks of pills and then a week of blanks. That way, you’ll only have four periods a year.”
“Four periods a year?” I asked. “You must be my Fairy Godmother.” I looked for wings and such but found none but still I walked on clouds. Four periods a year? Heaven. I was so happy I left his office telling everyone “I’m only going to have four periods a year!” I bragged to my older daughters, my husband, coworkers, anyone who would list. When Sesame Street was brought to me by the number four, I shook my head affirmatively - it seemed only right, everything was falling into place.
I started taking my pills faithfully; one every night at 10:00 PM. Things were going swell. And then it all fell apart. I Googled again - break through bleeding is common with a new pill. Buck up, it’s OK. You’ll get through it. Choose your preferential type of absorbent cotton feminine protection products and deal with it.
Weeks - WEEKS, I tell ya. This went on for WEEKS. I was nearly ready to sell my soul and my undersized sex drive to the tubal ligation peddlers, but I held out. Have you any clue how freaking annoying it is to need to be protected, femininely, for 8 weeks in a row?
It was a punishment, I was sure. For my sinful pride in four periods a year. For mucking with God’s plan by dumping hormones and magical four period a year pixie dust into my body. Yes, I was certain that the God I’m not quite certain I even believe in was punishing me. Dammit. I was boastful and smug about my four periods a year and he sat up there any said “I’ll show HER - watch this, Peter, this ought to be very entertaining.”
I’m now moving into my 2nd twelve week cycle and I’ve bought stock in the Kotex company (I figure, with five daughters of my own, it’s a pretty safe investment). If I am faced with another extended period, I think I might just take my chances and stop the damn pills altogether. After all, when I weigh them against each other, the choice is clear. On the one hand, a period that goes on an on and on. On the other hand, pregnancy, childbirth, and 20 years of child-rearing. It’s clear which one is less annoying, even given the teenage years.
