Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 28

Today is the 14th day of my period this go round. In February, I bled for 21 days. There are only 28 days in February. I would have killed someone during this COVID winter bloodbath--myself, whoever was next to me--but I was too tired and my ugly crying would have prevented a clean shot.

At the doctor's in February once again they tried to take a bunch of blood to check me for STDs (some of which may make your cooch bleed) and assess my thyroid and screen for anemia. But in my distress, I had not been eating or drinking enough. So they couldn't successfully draw on the left arm, after poking the fuck out of me. They went for the right and lights out. 

I had to stay home from work the next day because the doctor said it was my job to eat and drink continually until my re-do blood draw. I had Burger King on repeat. When I went back, my reputation preceded me. I got the Medical Assistant skilled in blood draws. I laid down in advance. It went fine. No STDs (then Freddy, so I went through this rigamarole again). Thyroid stable. Not anemic, but already supplementing anyway per doctor's orders. They didn't know why my cooch was and again is a blood sprinkler. Could be an acceleration in the crawl towards menopause. Could be stress (my forever period started about 2 weeks after I learned the divorce was final). I asked for an antidepressant and therapy. I took both. Neither helped. Because happy pills and professionally talking it out don't treat bleeding. During this episode, a brilliant friend who'd made me smile since kindergarten killed himself.

Obviously this hormonal development makes me an incredibly hot property on the dating market. You bleed and cry continually AND simultaneously? Say you'll be mine! I really should put myself out there on Vampires Only.

The situation is just this bad every 6 months, I guess. So there's that. One of the many things my ex-husband didn't want to see me through was menopause. Because he was the only 1 allowed to feel poorly.

This situation makes me the most sad because I am such a silly Pisces, I thought I might actually get lucky and have a miracle baby. Since I don't get laid and I mostly bleed, even my rose-colored glasses can see how likely this is. And that also makes me cry.

I am afraid to get Daisy fixed because when they tried to fix her mom in February, she died. Daisy is an orphan. We probably shouldn't have half a dozen giant puppies just the 2 of us, but I can't bring myself to fix her, either. Her body, her choice. What if Daisy wants puppies? She's as lonely as I am. She already lost her mother and is separated from her siblings. She doesn't even know her mom died. I can't tell her.

I try to remain hopeful, but the more days I bleed, the less juice I have for miracles. I hope God reads my blog and she sends me a sign to help me keep chugging along. Or at least turns off the blood-n-tears faucet.

Until Next Time, Sweetes!

Ness Sweet Ness