Yesterday I went to see my ob/gyn. Of course, since I’m not pregnant, I guess he’s just my gyn. The ob part of his duties have been fulfilled.
Although truth be told he wasn’t on call the night Caroline was born and his partner was busy with an emergency c-section so she literally had her hands full. Satan was my nurse and refused to give me the epidural because she wasn’t convinced I was in labor which, at that point, was the equivalent of saying she wasn’t sure if I was pregnant.
But, really, I’m over it.
I certainly don’t mention it to him every time I see him. And, hypothetically speaking, if I do mention it every time I see him it’s only because I’m waiting for some kind of plaque or even a small trophy rewarding my heroic efforts for getting to ten centimeters without the aid of an epidural when my original birth plan clearly stated I’d like the epidural two weeks prior to delivery.
It was a monumental feat for someone who begins to hyperventilate at the mere mention of having blood drawn or having to go on a week-long vacation with only one suitcase.
Anyway, I scheduled an appointment a few weeks ago when I looked in the mirror and discovered my hormones were under the impression that I was thirteen years old. Not only was my chin completely in need of some Clearasil, but I started to cry when I realized we were out of Smart Start. And then I wrote a note to P asking if he still liked me and to check yes or no.
I explained all this to my ob/gyn and he agreed that something had definitely shifted. Thankfully he did not tell me I was in some kind of early menopause because I would have started screaming for an epidural. Instead he thought we should change my birth control pills.
If we could make a clear decision about whether or not to have another baby, I wouldn’t be stuck in this pill purgatory. But, alas, I have a hard time making decisions about what type of potato chips to buy at HEB so, clearly, I can’t be expected to make a decision as monumental as bringing another human into the world.
Another baby? Not another baby?
Cheetos? Doritos?
It’s enough to make my head explode.
So, I took my first Yaz pill last night even though I have a problem with Yaz because of their commercials that make it appear that when women are out with our friends we sit around and casually talk about the side effects of birth control pills.
“Remember Suzie, you shouldn’t use an MAO Inhibitor if you are currently taking Yaz. Also, it may increase your chances of headaches, stroke, or having mind-numbing conversations with your girlfriends who wish you’d shut your trap about the pharmacodynamics of Yaz.”
At this moment I have a hormonal headache, slight nausea and an overwhelming urge to throw a toaster oven through the kitchen window.
In other words, I’m totally back to normal.
Obviously, it’s going to take a few days to adjust to my new hormonal regimen.
In the meantime, I’m stocking up on Sea Breeze astringent because it totally cleared my face up back in 1986.
Let’s hope it can work a similar miracle twenty-two years later.
By the way, P checked yes. I totally knew he liked me.