We're not telling you to suck it up

We're sure you're in a ton of pain, honey, but it'll be three weeks before you can see the doctor. Just take it easy or go to the E.R. if you really can't handle it.

Because yes, a $250 ER Co-pay and 20% of the fees is something my budget has just been dying to splurge on. And, oh, yeah, they'd want to give me morphine. Another fun thing to look forward to: red angry veins from the hydrochloric acid they call a godsend of a painkiller burns my arm off while making me hurl my stomach and lungs up.

In other words: suck it up, soldier.

You are a woman: you've had six kids, pain is an old friend, a monthly friend; you can do this.

Ok, someone's definition of "friend" is completely different than mine, but I guess I'm still breathing.

Last week it felt like my right ovary had declared nuclear war on my left. The left then mutated into some kind of shark-tooth covered alien trying to gnaw its way out of my abdomen while retaliating with carpet-bombing across the way back to the offending O.

And then all hell broke loose Saturday when I was pretty sure my lower abdomen went supernova.

Drugs? Sure. I have them on hand. I filled my prescriptions after my Appendectomy/Hernia/OvarianCystRemoval Trifecta Of Doom surgery a couple of years ago. And then never took them. Pain AND narcotic allergies really don't make for a fun experience. Especially when the narcotics don't really get rid of the pain, but add massive headaches and nausea to it.

But, you know, sometimes I take them because the pain is so bad I have to believe the other side-effects are worth it. And then it all snowballs to Hell and doesn't melt for a couple of days.

1 - I will never understand how people can get addicted to pain killers. Gross

2 - My female bits have done their part, and are broken. They're past warranty and I'm pretty sure I can't get a factory replacement, so I'd just as soon have them removed, thank you very much. Besides, if they keep fighting, who knows what other organs they'll incite into rebellion.

The last thing I need is for my kidneys deciding to be the Luke and Leiah to my brain's Emperor, with the liver shooting out cloned Storm Troopers while my pancreas declares itself the moon of Endor. I'd be a living breathing disco ball of lights, suspended from the ceiling and spinning from the blaster shots, light sabers, and Force being thrown around. Ooh, Pretty.

Three weeks.

At least the supernova has burned down, leaving my uterus a flaming bonfire. Today the two O's are sitting around it singing Kumbaya until their next high school drama fight begins and they start trying to claw each others eyes out again. Using ballistic missiles.

I'll take it. I have dishes to do and girl scouts to run and a couple of birthdays to plan. And if the O's can keep the cease-fire up for three weeks until the doctor can fix the problem, fine.

Because scheduled medical anything is cheaper than unscheduled.