More about my disgusting innards

This morning, I got as far as the Main Station, the half-way point of my commute, before I felt the ominous trickle of blood escaping from one’s sanitary protection. I made it to the toilets (30p! They charge you 30p now! In exact money! I did not have 30p. The change machine is on the floor above. The jobsworth at the entrance gate looked at my proferred 50p as if I was trying to hand her a perfectly formed dog-turd, so had to I run upstairs, get change, and run down again, all with that trickling sensation distracting me mightily. Goddamnit) just before my jeans got soaked. Less than 45 minutes to drown a super-plus-extra tampon. And as I was sitting in the grubby little cubicle with inadequate door-lock (30-fucking-p!), I felt a sudden, sweaty wave of nausea, and managed to get off the pan, turn 180 degrees and crouch just in time.

Throwing up in a busy public lavatory, with my jeans round my ankles and my sodden knickers round my knees, bare bottom pointed at the barely-locked door, comes under the heading of ‘Low Point’.

(As for the knickers, I gave up on trying to mop them wearable and binned them. I had a spare pair. I am sensible).

When I wobbled back onto the concourse, I then nearly blacked out. I sat down heavily next to a woman eating fruit salad with a tooth-pick and put my head between my knees for a few minutes. And had a little weep while I was down there. Fruit-salad woman could care less*.

So I went home. H met me at our local station and carried my bag for me, carefully not touching me when he realised the friendly arm he’d put round me just made me shudder with poorly controlled nausea (I can’t be touched when I feel sick. I just can’t. I swear, I use every nerve to Not Feel Sick. I can’t spare any to register kindly interest). Then he made me peppermint tea while I locked myself in the bathroom for a while and my lower digestive tract had a go at expressing its frustration and sorrow. Came out of bathroom, went back in. Came out again and lay down, got up and went back to the bathroom. And so on.

H, who is kind, called my job to tell them I had been trying to get to work, but ‘fell ill’ on the way, which is nicer than ‘and every bodily fluid you can think of was absolutely involved’. He then called his own job to tell them his bloody wife had burst into bloody flames again (or something) and then worked from home while making me tea at regular intervals and occasionally looking at me in a worried sort of way.

So, any Gentle Readers who made it this far into this horrible post, any ideas? Allergic to Main Station (I have a distressing tendency to either puke there or start a migraine there)? My body suddenly deciding that it can’t be having with volterol mixed with tramadol (not that I’d taken either on Tuesday. I had geared down to ibuprofen and paracetamol)? The fibroids/adenomyosis/possible endometriosis monster chewing a hole in something? The lower-bowel misery is strongly indicative of endometriosis, I am told by PubMed. This upsets me. I know when I had a lap 4 years ago they didn’t find endo, but they did find a great many ‘adhesions’, and removed some of them (apparantly they left some ‘minor’ ones on the right-hand side). I had assumed – they had assumed – that the adhesions were from the emergency surgery I had at 18 to remove my left ovary, fallopian tube, and gigantic ruptured ovarian cyst/teratoma/evil piranha. But then why would there be any on the right side?

I am going to have to tell Miss Consultant, very very firmly, that I need a second opinion. And almost certainly another laparoscopy and hysteroscopy. Because this is ridiculous.

*Point of order – ‘I could care less’ is the older, more subtle, more sarcastic idiom. ‘I couldn’t care less’ is the user friendly version for people who think ‘ironic’ means that fucking Alanis Morissette song (hint – none of the situations in the song are actually ironic. They are variations on ‘tiresome’, ‘annoying’, ‘very distressing’, and ‘pointless’). People keep trying to ‘correct’ my usage, which really is ironic.

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23 responses to “More about my disgusting innards

  • Rachel

    I am astounded that anyone would consider correcting your diction. Not so astounded by Satsuma’s behavior.

    It sounds awful. I really hope that you feel better soon and heartily second the vote for a second opinion.

  • QoB

    I’m happily agnostic, but there are times when a good Dear Sweet Suffering Jesus is the only appropriate reaction, and this is one of those times.

    Dear Sweet Suffering Jesus!

    Medical assistance STAT, definitely!

  • Wombattwo

    Definitely allergic to Main Station, if it’s the one I’m thinking of…
    Seriously though, tramadol DOES make people puke but as you hadn’t taken any that day I’m not sure. Have you tried taking your antiemetics along with said tramadol? Or, I can imagine (not wanting to worry you unnecessarily here) that endometriosis if it travels as far as the upper abdominal organs could possibly not be helpful with the vomiting aspect of things.
    All in all, I do think that a second opinion and another lap/hyst is entirely reasonable here (and bear in mind you have a RIGHT to ask for this and to get it) and I shall come down with a hammer and stand menacingly outside Miss Consultant’s door until she acquiesces.
    Hugs, and you wrap up warm and look after yourself, Mrs, and don’t even think about going back to work until you feel better x

  • Betty M

    Zero ideas my dear except to second the idea of another opinion because this is now well past beyond a joke. There must be something surely that could make this better. The whole aching in weird zones and churned up insides does sound totally like the endo to me though or at least how it gets me in a much more minor way than you. Hope H is still home with you ministering tea and sympathy.

  • Shannon

    Thirding the second opinion, as well as preparing to line up to speak to your GP and demand – DEMAND I SAY – that they start supplying appropriate pain management medication. Feminax is for beginners. You need something to help make it right.

  • Chickenpig

    OMG I’m sorry you’re going through this.

    I have been where you are, the heavy bleeding (understatement), and nausea during my period. I did not (and don’t now) have endo, but what I DID have was a gynormous fibroid. It played with my hormones, screwed up my cycles, and made my periods a living Hell. Then my period wouldn’t show up for two months. (by the end). In the beginning, when it wasn’t as big, it just made about every other period pretty nasty.

  • Anonymous

    I have been a goodly part of the way to where you are and yes, nausea, vomiting, the runs, sore skin/joints and massive, un-bloody-believable amounts of pain, centred around your uterus but radiating out to the far extremities more often than not, relentlessly accompany you into Endometriosis Territory. With dry gulches and painfully sharp cacti.

    Some of it, or most of it, can be can be sheeted home to the high level of prostaglandins surging through your system. And, as someone who tried every single thing available to me way back then, the worst thing was that some of the treatments worked for a while but then, in some evil bodily plot, they completely failed. Overthrown by the Powers of Endometrial Darkness. Complete with Utter Misery and High Anxiety rising to Complete Terror as period commencement day approached. To say nothing of the Uncontrolled and Excessive Use of Upper Case. Especially in the continuous use of expletives during the worst of it.

    I’m so, so sorry May. That the one thing that will bring some relief is not happening. The humiliation of it all. The pain. Everything. Get the second opinion. And more tea and tramadol. Love and hugs to you and H.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Oh God, May. I don’t do good commenting at this unearthly time in the morning – and have still to construct the Something Thoughtful I had brewing on your last post – but I can’t go to bed without saying WHAT THE FUCK, MAY’S BODY?! What the FUCKINGTON fuck is all this about? This is so, SO ridiculous that I could scream, so God alone knows how frustrated, savage and furious you must feel. You poor, poor, poor girl; I know well the experience of trying to hold one’s leaking, bloodstained dignity together in public places, but the nausea is a profoundly evil extra-thick layer of turd on the situation… and paying 30p for the blasted privilege?! Jesus God. I am simmering with rage (I don’t know at what to direct it at, but if I ever find a plausible target: it’s going home in an ambulance) and vibrating with righteous indignation that you should have to suffer this worsening shower of shit.

    Second opinions. Third opinions. Action.

    Anyone correcting your usage gets a stab in the eye.

  • Jo

    No advice at all, but stopping in to say that this is beyond ridiculous and you MUST. GET. HELP. No one should have to endure what you endure every single month — its beyond insane. I am so, so, so sorry that you are going through all of this and I wish I could wave my magic wand and make it all go away.

    Big hugs,
    Jo

  • a

    Okay, first. Pay toilets are a terrible idea. As if anyone wants to pay for the privelege of using a toilet that other people have used. Although, I don’t use a toilet in a train station unless there is NO OTHER CHOICE – maybe paying for them makes them tolerable.

    Second, second opinion! Definitely! Something is going on in there, and if it takes someone going in to have a look around, so be it.

    I prefer could care less also…

  • katyboo1

    All of what they said. You have my most profound sympathy. I am a great vomiter in public, and I also hate to be touched when I am concentrating on not throwing up. It is truly awful. I am so very sorry. Second, third, twelfth opinion. God’s teeth it is so unfair on you.xx

  • Korechronicles

    The anonymous comment @ 12.22am was me breaking my own rule about blog commenting at work. Just in case you were wondering.

    More love and hugs then!

  • Valery

    Vomiting and touching do not mix, I agree. Like every fibre of your body is electrically charged. Wishing that I could carry some of your load because it seems to be getting more difficult every month. If your body was trying to tell you something it would be nice if it listened to what you have to say back…
    Fresh mint from my balcony for more tea then.
    take care.

  • bionicbrooklynite

    first, can’t we, as a sociiiiiiiiieteeeeee, agree that we do want people — even lowlifes without correct change — using bathrooms? (as opposed to walls, potted plants, parked cars, and, as i witnessed a woman do in chicago once, the totally unshielded middle of train platforms?) pay toilets are the triumph of capitalism over every kind of good sense. bah.

    i reluctantly allow that surgery may be the only way to figure out what the hell is going on in there. prostiglandins are the assholes of the endocrine word, as someone noted above. and adhesions don’t play neatly. and if men got these things, maybe we’d know even the tiniest fucking bit about them, or is my angry side showing again?

    and good H for managing to stop touching you. nothing worse than additional sensory input while in that stage.

    xxxoooxxxooo, on hold for when you are touchable again.

  • MFA Mama

    1. What Rachel said.
    2. On the matter of swearing and invocations, I prefer “SWEET BLEEDING CHRIST!” in times of duress.
    3. What Anon (#7) a.k.a. korechronicles said about the prostaglandins.
    4. I used to have similar problems, minus the puking (but then I am not a puker by nature, not even in pregnancy or with an ileus, I JUST REFUSE), and you know how THAT little ditty ended. Rest In Pieces, Uterus, You Bitch You.
    5. I do not have any brilliant ideas given that you’d still like to get some use out of your uterus, but agree with the other commenters that Someone Must Do Something About This.
    6. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Really, it’s getting ridiculous! *shakes fist impotently at universe at large*

  • Jem

    Oh, you poor, poor dear!

  • bunny

    I came over a bit faint just reading about it. And then, like Bionic, I thought about how this problem would be solved if it happened to men. I hope so emphatically that that was the worst of it for this month, and that you get help STAT. Because, Oh. My. God.

  • manapan

    Holy crap, what an awful day. You poor dear! Maybe you’ve covered this before and I’m being forgetful, but why downgrade the painkillers? Especially if a nice exploratory surgery finds the something awful we all suspect, you can get even stronger ones. If anyone deserves some oxycodone, it’s you.

    Also, like Bionic mentioned, my rural mind can’t comprehend paying for toilet access when there are perfectly good trash bins/trees/etc. to hide behind while attending to one’s business. Then again, I imagine Main Station has cameras.

  • twangy

    Oh May. I wish I could offer some helpful advice – fortunately, you have the others, who are able to – because this is Hell itself.

    I will position myself in the queue behind Wombattwo outside the office of our beloved (irony, see) Miss Consultant, for she better DO SOMETHING, like now.

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