Scratch the cats. I think it's doctors now.

Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up, and everything goes so smoothly that you just know shit is about to hit the fan? That was my yesterday. Aside from a not-too-friendly visit from Aunt Flo, my day was going well. The cat's were caged, the kitchen wasn't on fire (for once) and that little voice inside my head warning me that shit is about to hit the fan? Blissfully silent. And then The Hospital.

I give The Hospital capitalization because you know what? I think in my case, it's earned it. The Hospital feels it has earned it. I have learned (slowly) that one does not argue with The Hospital. I seem to remember doing this in the past, and it turning into a horrible bloody mess. In fact, there was one singular event where a surgeon and I were "discussing" just why I could not take my gallbladder home with me. I wanted to make a 3D puzzle out of it and formaldehyde. Don't ask. You would have had to grow up with my Grandmother to understand that one.

Although in this case, it was bleeding.

All easily sickened  reader should find their way to the lobby. Now.

I was overcome yesterday morning, by bad, bad, and very bloody bad. It was not fun. In fact, there was such a lack of fun, that I called my doctor. Shannon, being familiar as she is with my frequent visits and 60's era medical marvel problems, sent me immediately to the emergency room. There really is no way to write this without being squeamishly blunt, so I apologize in advance. I am about to use the word "PAD". Dun dun dun!

So here I was, in the emergency room, bleeding through every Auntie-related product mankind has to offer, - namely, pads - and exhausting them about twice per hour. As anyone in possession of a vagina might tell you, this is a bad, bad thing. All the doctors say this is a bad thing. But more importantly, The Hospital says this is a shit-has-hit-the-fan thing. Emergency room doctor, though, is an evil doctor. Evil Doctor disagreed. Evil Doctor believes that I have been suffering from - and I quote - "Woman Problems".

He says this as if all of a sudden, becoming the world's most amazing blood-bank was not an issue. The nurses are freaking out, the internet is freaking out. Even Husband has been hyperventilating on the sly. But doctor? Oh no. He had the nads to lay my bed back for apparently no other reason that to stare vertically into my eyes and spout "Don't you understand? This is your period."

Bullhonkey my not-so-fine old man! Ladies, if you have ever had a period, you will know what your particular monthly bits look like. In fact you probably know more than one would ever want to know about your dear old Aunt. Although there are some people - like me - who, while knowing all, understand just one thing. Auntie hates you. She hates you with a burning fiery passion that just keeps coming back.

This month, Auntie called Jihad. She has decided that I am her personal devil, and come hell or high tides, she will be cleansed. After much deliberation with the sane-minded folk I surround myself with, I have come to the conclusion that Evil Doctor is defending dear old Auntie F. He took one look at me, had me pee in a cup (under supervision!) and then signed my discharge papers. Allow me to relate to you exactly what symptoms I entered The Hospital with. And after that, and excerpt from the discharge papers my "doctor" was so kind to provide me with.



Symptoms Upon Entry - 


Mild Shaking
Dizziness/Lightheaded
Heavy Bleeding lasting more than 24 hours
Satan Cramps from Hell
Chilled and Pale

I should note, my final diagnosis? Menorrhagia, otherwise known as bleeding to death from the lady bits.


And now an excerpt from my after-care instructions.



From the Mouth of Evil Doctor -

GET PROMPT MEDICAL ATTENTION if any of the following occur:
Heavier bleeding (soaking more than one pad in an hour for three hours)
Abnormally severe abdominal pain
feeling weak or dizzy, fainting



Now if I were a doctor, looking at this information, I would think to myself "Damn, there seems to be something wrong with this woman. Perhaps I should test something." But no. After deducing that I was not pregnant (go figure) Evil Doctor decided that womanly problems belonged at home, apparently with the women, babies and cake-baking, and not anywhere near him and his emergency room of misogynistic glory. I was given a condecending pat on the back, no lollipop and a bootied foot to the backside. Oh, and instructions to quickly make an appointment with "the woman who does my paps".

Well, I'm calling the woman who does my paps. Little does Evil Doctor know, "woman who does my paps" is a wonderful, Joan of Arcean goddess of fucking SPLENDOR. She is battle hardened by The Hospital and defends my shit with her life. Once it was literally. I personally cannot wait to hear her opinion on Evil Doctor Shmelzer. Seriously. I was being nice with the pet name.

The Hospital may have won this battle. But Auntie-sympathizing doctors or no, I shall win this war. Oh yes, with an elite team of malpractice fighting Medical Gods and an unstoppable she-bitch best friend at my side, I shall win this war.