Vaginatown
As mentioned in a filtered post earlier, since I first began to boost my workout routine a couple months ago, I've had a couple little menstrual oddities, mostly in the form of unexpected midcycle bleeding/spotting. I am aware that a change in exercise can result in such things, and after a conversation with my mom in which she confirmed that the same thing has happened to her, I wasn't too concerned. Though my cycles are curious by some folks' standards, they're quite predictable to me (keeping a menstrual journal helps -- no, seriously, laydeez, if you're not keeping one you seriously should, and I don't mean that in a moonchild hippie LET'S LOVE OUR VAJAYJAYS way, but in a for-your-health-and-personal-knowledge way).
The thing is, I have this hypochondriac streak, for which I can thank my dear father. So it's very difficult for me to stand by and trust my instincts on this sort of thing... even when my instincts are pretty solid. So when I spotted and had light cramping for a few hours two weeks ago Wednesday, I thought, hmm, possibly it's ovulation. Actually, odds are good it's ovulation, since it's bang-on in the middle of my cycle. Of course, I've not historically been very prone to ovulation spotting, so I was open to the possibility of being wrong. I thought about it and thought about it, and finally decided to see my doctor.
I like my doctor a lot. He has never, ever harrassed me about my fatness, and he has never, ever dismissed or minimized a complaint I've posed. In fact, I've occasionally been frustrated by this, when all I want to hear is "Oh, you're fine!", because if it's something outside his expertise he will always refer me to a specialist. On the one hand, this is awesome, especially considering the frequency with which a lot of fat patients are refused specialist referrals, or told to lose weight as a solution to any problem, from a skin rash to a sore elbow. So I have to remind myself to be grateful to have a doctor who takes my concerns seriously, and whose first impulse is to run a battery of tests or send me to a specialist in the field rather than attempt to treat something he can't accurately diagnose, or on which he doesn't have the most up-to-date knowledge.
Though sometimes, I just want to be told, "Oh, you're fine!"
So I went to my doctor who takes everything very seriously and told him about my midcycle bleeding. And I said, "Hey, I'm pretty sure this may be ovulation-related spotting, likely brought on by my change in exercise routine, which I'm aware can cause a temporary hormone realingment, but it's unusual for me so I thought I'd ask. I even brought along a copy of my period journal and spoke the words "and now I shall impress you with my meticulous menstrual note-taking" which got a chuckle from my doc. I make efforts to get a laugh out of him on every visit because it's a challenge and every time I succeed I'm all "YESSS! LESLEY 1, DOCTOR 0!" inside my head.
And he listened very thoughtfully (he is a very patient listener, and never rushes an appointment, even when I probably take too much time regaling him with tales of the wild adventures of Uterusana Jones and the Cervix of Doom) and pretty immediately said "ultrasound" and "gynecologist" which were really the two words I least wanted to hear. His reasoning being that because I am a fatass (paraphrasing), I am at an increased risk of endometrial cancer. Which he was pretty damn sure was not the problem. But having a baseline would not be a bad idea (my doctor, he LOVES the baselines). I asked, why is there an increased risk for fats? And my doctor said he didn't know, which is something else I like about him - he is always ready to be honest when he doesn't know something.
And he trotted off for the referral paperwork and I thought, ugh, do I really want an ultrasound at this point? A pelvic ultrasound is unintimidating, as I've had the abdominal kind before and it weren't no thang, but I was not so into the idea of a transvaginal ultrasound for something I'm pretty sure is a hormonal shift owing to exercise changes, and not The Cancer. Plus, either ultrasound, even if I could haggle down to a pelvic, would probably reveal the fibroid(s) I most likely have and you know, me and my fibroid(s), we have this don't ask, don't tell policy, in which they don't make their presence a nuisance and I don't have to think about having them surgically attacked (our deal extends to my fertility as well, though I have yet to test their commitment to our truce on that front as of yet).
I took the paperwork and left feeling more than a little anxious, in spite of his assurances that this wasn't something I needed to drop everything and panic over. I thought, okay Lesley, how about we just chill and see if your period turns up as expected next week? Late or lacking period, we go down Unknown Lane and call the referral GYN. Normal period, we take the Wait And See Road for another cycle. See, I WANT to trust my instincts, the ones that say: dude, the spotting was ovulation, you KNOW it was, why are you fretting? But the incoherent screaming of my inner hypochondriac sometimes drowns those other voices out.
Damned if my period didn't show two weeks to the day after what I suspected was ovulation-inspired spotting. Which is kind of remarkable and fascinating to me. I've never tried to conceive, and in fairness have spent the whole of my adult life in nigh-obsessive terror over pregnancy; it's only been in the past two years or so that I've begun to seriously consider putting my fetusmaker parts to their fullest use. As a result I've tended to believe that the whole ovulation/fetus factory thing just... didn't... happen. So I'm pretty rapt with the idea that, whoa, like, I spotted because one ovary popped an egg and that egg went into that tube and that tube terminated in Uterusville and it's just a hop-skip from Uterusville to tiny Liechtenstein-like Cervixstan which shares a border with Vaginatown and from whence comes this month's whole unused endometrial mess, as we speak. It's also a snappy reminder that my instincts around my health are reliable; I know when things are okay, and I know when things are wrong. I need to remember that.
Because this little anecdote inspired me to look it up again, please do consider checking out the Beautiful Cervix Project, which now has more pictures! (That link is not recommended for people averse to flesh, mucus, indeterminate white substances, or blood. It is also probably the most NSFW link ever in the history of links.)
The thing is, I have this hypochondriac streak, for which I can thank my dear father. So it's very difficult for me to stand by and trust my instincts on this sort of thing... even when my instincts are pretty solid. So when I spotted and had light cramping for a few hours two weeks ago Wednesday, I thought, hmm, possibly it's ovulation. Actually, odds are good it's ovulation, since it's bang-on in the middle of my cycle. Of course, I've not historically been very prone to ovulation spotting, so I was open to the possibility of being wrong. I thought about it and thought about it, and finally decided to see my doctor.
I like my doctor a lot. He has never, ever harrassed me about my fatness, and he has never, ever dismissed or minimized a complaint I've posed. In fact, I've occasionally been frustrated by this, when all I want to hear is "Oh, you're fine!", because if it's something outside his expertise he will always refer me to a specialist. On the one hand, this is awesome, especially considering the frequency with which a lot of fat patients are refused specialist referrals, or told to lose weight as a solution to any problem, from a skin rash to a sore elbow. So I have to remind myself to be grateful to have a doctor who takes my concerns seriously, and whose first impulse is to run a battery of tests or send me to a specialist in the field rather than attempt to treat something he can't accurately diagnose, or on which he doesn't have the most up-to-date knowledge.
Though sometimes, I just want to be told, "Oh, you're fine!"
So I went to my doctor who takes everything very seriously and told him about my midcycle bleeding. And I said, "Hey, I'm pretty sure this may be ovulation-related spotting, likely brought on by my change in exercise routine, which I'm aware can cause a temporary hormone realingment, but it's unusual for me so I thought I'd ask. I even brought along a copy of my period journal and spoke the words "and now I shall impress you with my meticulous menstrual note-taking" which got a chuckle from my doc. I make efforts to get a laugh out of him on every visit because it's a challenge and every time I succeed I'm all "YESSS! LESLEY 1, DOCTOR 0!" inside my head.
And he listened very thoughtfully (he is a very patient listener, and never rushes an appointment, even when I probably take too much time regaling him with tales of the wild adventures of Uterusana Jones and the Cervix of Doom) and pretty immediately said "ultrasound" and "gynecologist" which were really the two words I least wanted to hear. His reasoning being that because I am a fatass (paraphrasing), I am at an increased risk of endometrial cancer. Which he was pretty damn sure was not the problem. But having a baseline would not be a bad idea (my doctor, he LOVES the baselines). I asked, why is there an increased risk for fats? And my doctor said he didn't know, which is something else I like about him - he is always ready to be honest when he doesn't know something.
And he trotted off for the referral paperwork and I thought, ugh, do I really want an ultrasound at this point? A pelvic ultrasound is unintimidating, as I've had the abdominal kind before and it weren't no thang, but I was not so into the idea of a transvaginal ultrasound for something I'm pretty sure is a hormonal shift owing to exercise changes, and not The Cancer. Plus, either ultrasound, even if I could haggle down to a pelvic, would probably reveal the fibroid(s) I most likely have and you know, me and my fibroid(s), we have this don't ask, don't tell policy, in which they don't make their presence a nuisance and I don't have to think about having them surgically attacked (our deal extends to my fertility as well, though I have yet to test their commitment to our truce on that front as of yet).
I took the paperwork and left feeling more than a little anxious, in spite of his assurances that this wasn't something I needed to drop everything and panic over. I thought, okay Lesley, how about we just chill and see if your period turns up as expected next week? Late or lacking period, we go down Unknown Lane and call the referral GYN. Normal period, we take the Wait And See Road for another cycle. See, I WANT to trust my instincts, the ones that say: dude, the spotting was ovulation, you KNOW it was, why are you fretting? But the incoherent screaming of my inner hypochondriac sometimes drowns those other voices out.
Damned if my period didn't show two weeks to the day after what I suspected was ovulation-inspired spotting. Which is kind of remarkable and fascinating to me. I've never tried to conceive, and in fairness have spent the whole of my adult life in nigh-obsessive terror over pregnancy; it's only been in the past two years or so that I've begun to seriously consider putting my fetusmaker parts to their fullest use. As a result I've tended to believe that the whole ovulation/fetus factory thing just... didn't... happen. So I'm pretty rapt with the idea that, whoa, like, I spotted because one ovary popped an egg and that egg went into that tube and that tube terminated in Uterusville and it's just a hop-skip from Uterusville to tiny Liechtenstein-like Cervixstan which shares a border with Vaginatown and from whence comes this month's whole unused endometrial mess, as we speak. It's also a snappy reminder that my instincts around my health are reliable; I know when things are okay, and I know when things are wrong. I need to remember that.
Because this little anecdote inspired me to look it up again, please do consider checking out the Beautiful Cervix Project, which now has more pictures! (That link is not recommended for people averse to flesh, mucus, indeterminate white substances, or blood. It is also probably the most NSFW link ever in the history of links.)