I’m watching Fry’s Planet Word, and the topic of swearing is the issue of the day; Basically, how people can endure unpleasant stressors for longer if they’re allowed to swear loudly whilst doing so (Cue wonderful scenes of Brian Blessed with his hand in a makeshift cold pressor as featured in Inky’s recent post saying “Wooden”, then saying “BOLLOCKS! and being able to endure the cold for longer when swearing). The idea is that you shock yourself, by swearing, and thus you’re distracted from the pain. Inveterate swearers get less benefit, due to being less shocked, but it’s a much-observed phenomenon.
It’s true, across many kinds of pains. If allowed to flail, swear, scream, shift around, complain heartily and kick things, I can put up with most injuries. If forced to keep within the bounds of good taste, I find myself usually much more distressed by whatever is hurting.
I am currently in the kind of pain where I have to keep within the bounds of good taste. Over the past three months, I’ve been getting increasingly painful cramps and (what looked like) menstrual bleeding. This is not normal for me – I’d not menstruated since 2009, and now this was a constant, painful, ill-coloured bleed. I spoke to my GP, and got examined, a painful, stressful process in its own right. The results were that my Mirena coil had started to expel itself, out through the cervix, and about a quarter of it was visible.
Two days after that, I found the strings, less than three inches inside; The coil had evidently completely exited, and was just sitting outside the uterus, being a massive infection risk. It took an hour to remove, with patience and pain and care and a lot of shaky exhaustion. I curled up afterwards, diazepam doing its good work, and had to let myself be looked after, once again finding myself grateful for the quality of my friends.
So I have an appointment, again. 23rd of February, with the same good gynaecologist as last year (MrGb). It’s only a clinic, not a theatre, so I probably won’t be able to get a full general anaesthetic, but I might be able to have nitrous or similar. I’m scared, but I need my coil back as soon as possible. Being fertile terrifies me. It gives me more anxiety than I can possibly describe. I have never wanted children; Being a parent always looked like a pointless, painful slog, I’ve never got on well enough with other people to be able to risk having a child that I’m likely to just not get on with. I’m rampantly bipolar – I couldn’t care for a child, I can barely care for myself. EDS is genetic, and seems to be closer to dominant than recessive (multiple genes, lies to children version) and I don’t want to damn another human being to the life I have. And, well, my life plans have never involved children. Never, even in an idle fantasy, have I thought about the archetypal house with a garden and a partner and our children.
But, due to my age (barely sub-thirty), even though I’ve been telling doctors ever since I was sixteen that I want to be sterilised at the soonest possible opportunity, I’ve got to go through the humiliation and pain of having a new coil every five years (or less, apparently!) instead of one simple, cheap operation that would save us all the bother.
And I am fucking sick of it. I am in pain, I am bleeding, I can’t get off the settee because my hip has subluxed and swollen so badly that the leg won’t move, and I just want to cry. Bollocks.