When your body fails

I am very sad to state that my body is failing me. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but it seems like my body has just given up on me. I'm such a busy person. Every day, I'm driving Miss Never Stops Talking back & forth from school, grocery shopping, cleaning, changing the endless diapers of my boys, making meals, cleaning more, doing laundry, taking the kids to the park, going for bike rides. Every day, my life is GO GO GO. So...it was incredibly frustrating & humbling when my body refused to give in to my will. Dare I say it was scary when my body stopped working with so many little ones depending on me. I was panic stricken, really.

Ever since I gave birth to our second child, Mr. Loudest Kid Ever, my periods have been longer and heavier. I won’t go into details, but it is difficult to leave the house during my heavy menstrual days. When I went to my OBGYN for a routine checkup in February 2011, I informed the nurse practitioner of this new, uncomfortable development. She pushed birth control pills as a fix all, and I refused for two reasons- one, because as a Catholic, I practiced Natural Family Planning (and did not believe in abortifacents), and two, because I wanted to know why my periods had really changed, not just mask my symptoms with artificial hormones. The nurse practitioner ordered me an ultrasound to rule out physical abnormalities such as tumors and cysts, but I never ended up having that ultrasound because I found out I was pregnant with baby number three, Baby P, before my scheduled ultrasound. When I called to tell the nurse practitioner I was pregnant, she told me to cancel the ultrasound. We would investigate if my periods became heavy again after giving birth.

After Baby P was born, my periods were the same as after Mr. Loudest Kid Ever’s birth—longer and heavier. I swore I’d take it up with my OBGYN at my next routine appointment, and I planned to, once we got settled in California. Then one day, something unexpected started happening. I started hemorrhaging. It happened at the worst time too— on moving day, the day a bunch of strangers were boxing up all of my household possessions. Again, I'll try to spare you the details, but let's just say in the few minutes that it took me to drive home from my coveted In-N-Out Burger, I bled all over the driver's side of my car. It looked like someone had been shot. The bleeding continued at an alarming rate (hemorrhaging) for 4-5 hours, but I soldiered on. After all, we were moving. I couldn't go to the emergency room. There was work to be done.

I swore I'd go see an OBGYN as soon as we settled in California, but between unpacking, setting up utilities, registering Miss Never Stops Talking for kindergarten, and flying to NY for a childhood friend's wedding, I forgot all about scheduling an appointment. Until...the hemorrhaging started again. JOY. 12 hours later I found myself in the emergency room. It was a rough day. At that point, I finally made seeing an OBGYN a priority and followed up with one. This month I have been thoroughly poked and prodded, but we're still in wait and see mode.

My body doesn't seem like my own anymore, and it sucks.  It feels foreign.  I'm not used to being sick.  I'm not used to being unable to care for my kids because my body is failing me.