3500wordsperpound

I am participating in Diane DeBella’s #iamsubject project http://www.iamsubject.com/the-iamsubject-project/   Here is my #iamsubject story. Surgery. A word that summons images of clean whiteness, sterile air, and rubbing alcohol. The smell of rubbing alcohol strikes more fear into my heart than a thought of a needle piercing my skin. Last year was my year for needles, so I’m not fazed much by them anymore. I learned a lot about my body last year. I learned to listen, and demand that I be taken seriously for my pain. My cramps had become steadily worse—and then stopped altogether. Then after a month or so, they’d start up again, worse than before, with a lot of heavy bleeding. I wasn’t on any form of birth control and I knew—I knew—something wasn’t right, and I was scared enough to go to the emergency room. This is where my story picks up with a lot of other women: the dread of male doctors, mansplaining to me what I already know—it’s cramps!--and a condescending pat on th

I'm glad I went. I wasn't feeling well, but I didn't want to sit at home either. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be being around all the little ones. I tried to concentrate on having a good time and it worked. At least today it did. I had to sit down a lot but I was able to walk along a little path and go riding in the Arctic cat so that was fun.