endometrial stromal condensation
Will and I have been trying unsuccessfully to conceive another child since Katie was about six months old, so for nearly six years now. And yet my Aunt Flo keeps showing up once a month to announce our defeat. Not only does the bitch insist on these unwelcome visits, she brings along her irritating friends Crampy and Crabby to ensure one week of my life, and the lives of those around me, is miserable. My friends who have more than one child and complain of the constant sibling bickering might argue my Aunt Flo is actually saving me from four weeks of misery each month. But I still say if I'm not going to get another kid out of the deal, it's pretty rude to expect me to have to put up with the agony of menstruation. Why can't my version of PCOS involve not just anovulation but no period, period? If my ovaries aren't popping out eggs, why does my endometrium think it has to build a nest, only to destroy it when nothing sticks to it?
Normally when I'm crampy I pop an ibuprofen and say a little prayer of thanks for the makers of this miracle drug. But tonight I have plans for some heavy drinking to celebrate my birthday with my best bacchanal friends, so I'm trying to treat my liver as kindly as possible. If I learned anything from watching my brother die from liver failure, it's to avoid it at all costs. Mixing pain meds and booze is extremely damaging to the liver, so I have to pick my poison cautiously.
As the day goes on and my dysmenorrhea progresses, though, that bottle of ibuprofen is looking much better than that bottle of beer. Damn, Aunt Flo! Who invited you to my birthday party?!