I've been desperately attempting to plan my escape from work tomorrow. Charlie is off both Friday and Monday for the July 4th holiday and the last thing I want to do is go to work (knowing he'll have to be at the club every night through Sunday) and only have Monday off together.
Of course, I'm not thrilled that he has to be in there five nights in a row (including tonight and last night). I'm really getting sick of that bar but I know he wants to keep it until he decides what to do about school.
He presented the option to me of skipping out of this next semester until we locate and fix whatever problem it is I'm having in the female areas. Whether it's endometriosis, polycystic ovarian disease, premature menopause, fibroid tumors, cervical cancer . . . well, most of those ideas I don't even want to entertain. Typing them and seeing them in black and white is scary enough.
So I've been watching design shows all evening on HGTV (many episodes of “HouseHunters,” some “Design on a Dime”) and trying to figure out how to get out of work. I know I'm supposed to have blood drawn and get my hormone levels checked, which I could do tomorrow. But my next doctor's appointment couldn't be made until August first, and the blood I can get drawn whenever at one of their hospital's labs. It'll be sort of difficult to work one episode of blood being drawn into an entire day off. I'm not liking the idea of having to wait that long (and have another excrutiating period) to find out what the hell is wrong. I've let it go way too long as it is. A whole other month would drive me insane.
I wrote and asked my mom what the history was in our families, if there was anything I needed to know about. There was some squeaking about my dad's sister and his mom going through early menopause, but there's a big difference between hitting it at 30 and hitting it at 45. She also had something she called “dysplasia,” which was precancerous cells that were burned off. This made me a little nervous.
So I told Charlie to hold off on making any Really Big Decisions – don't just forget about school if I may or may not need invasive surgery. Who knows, maybe it is just menopause at 29, I'll be infertile, have hormone therapy, and start shaving my face.
I'll call the doctor's office tomorrow and find out if I can get in if someone else cancels, or if I'm able to be squeezed in between other appointments in case this is something the doctor really wanted to get taken care of and I somehow didn't relay the urgency whilst making said appointment. Was I supposed to say, “Dr Phillips said 'do it now'”?
Now I'm going to sit my butt back down on the couch and covet other people's expansive homes and wonderful redecorating ideas . . . none of which I'm sure I'll have the money or energy to implement.