For the past three months, I’ve had irregular periods. When I say “irregular” I mean 2 weeks long, and heavy enough that I worry a little bit about blood loss.
Therefore, I went to the doctor on Tuesday.
I should state for the record that I hate going to the doctor. It takes them 15 minutes to sign you in. You stand there, while the person checking you in looks at a bunch of computer screens and occasionally types things (although, what do I know, I guess they could be playing solitaire), it takes 15 minutes to sign out (and yes, I do sometimes leave without signing out, I figure when they close they will know I’ve left and after waiting 45 minutes for a doctor, it is sometimes too much for my impatient self to wait another 15 minutes with equanimity) plus the wait time for the doctor to arrive.
The doctor does arrive and I tell her about my problem. Her two ideas for a solution at either give me a shot of Depo Provera or put me on the pill.
I have been on the pill twice before. In high school it caused some rather tenacious migraines – like several a WEEK – so I was taken off of it. Then when I got married I tried it again and it made my moods extremely unpleasant.
I explain this to the doctor and tell her that Depo is out of the question as it last for about 3 months in your system, so no. I also explain that when I say the pill makes my moods unstable that what I mean is that I was so unbelievably crazy and bitchy that I got on my OWN nerves but couldn’t shut up or turn it off. I deem this kind of hormone hijacking to be unacceptable. She puts me on the pill anyway. I thought “it has been 16 years, pill technology has come a long way, maybe this time it will be fine.”
No. Not fine.
Day 1 of the Pill:
I have a headache that no amount of water will cure. I feel sick to my stomach, and I am pretty pissed at the world. I figure that this pissed offedness is due to having a headache and let it go.
Day 2 of the Pill:
Still have the headache but to a much lesser degree. However, I am furious about EVERYTHING. Now, when I say furious about everything, I mean very, very angry. Cecil the cat kept following me from room to room meowing (he was almost out of food in his food dish, cat reason to panic) and I was so mad at him I could not see straight. I screamed at him to shut up. You know that expression “blood boiling” – I actually felt hot, I felt like my face and arms were extremely hot due to the blood boiling rage I felt towards a meowing cat.
I have clients call. I barely stop myself from answering some of the relationship questions my very nice regulars are asking me about nastily. “Have you thought maybe you are just a psycho stalker?” “Do you think that maybe if he only shows up for sex that he is using you?” “Are you stupid? What did I just say? Huh? Were you even listening?”
Inside of this rage, Logic Jay tells me that the cat always meows when its food dish is empty and if my clients didn’t call me with the same questions I would not have a very lucrative job and part of that job is trying to soothe them and make them feel a bit better. That I am overreacting. That I should take a few deep breaths and calm down. I try to follow Logic Jay’s advice. However, the rage doesn’t go away the entire day. I try all of my tricks – I have clinical depression so I have a bag of tricks for depression that I figure can be pulled out and applied to rage – but none of them work.
Basically, even though I know I am overreacting, I cannot stop it. Hormone hijacking.
Will comes home and I tell him how I am full of rage. He jokes with me and I do not say the scathing mean thing I wanted to say, because I figure that is the Hormone Rage talking and Will is trying to defuse me a bit. Will however, looks at my not laughing face (I can always laugh, even when we are in the middle of an argument – this is one of the reasons we have lasted so long, we can fight and laugh almost simultaneously, and Will is a funny man) and then goes to his computer.
Will: What is the name of the pill you are on?
Me: (growling) What? You want to look up what I am taking?
I fight with the stupidly hard to open pills and tell him, “Mononessa” and then I shut the package, glad I don’t have to deal with THAT anymore.
Will: Are they 28’s?
Me: What? How the should I know what they are? Gah! Fine! I will just open the stupidly hard to open pills and look AGAIN at the prescription.
I say this as if I am doing HIM a favor. Will does not call me names, which I think is fairly saintly.
Will does research online. What did we ever do without google? Apparently my reaction of uncontrolled rage is not unusual. Also, another side effect is thinning hair. Joy!
I tell him that I am not taking them anymore. He agrees that this is probably a good idea.
Today is better. Still have the headache, but most of the rage is gone. I am going to look into getting iron pills for the whole blood loss thing. Will wants me to call my doctor today and tell her I went off the pill and why. I haven’t yet. I know that this will just mean she schedules another appointment with me, and the rage has not faded enough for that conversation to go politely or civilly.
For some reason, the older I get, the more pissed off I become when I tell the doctor something and they say, “Oh, no, let me discount your personal experience and do what you just asked me not to instead. I am smarter than you and in the 5 minutes I have spent with you today, I know you better than you know yourself so we are going to just do it my way, and if it wreaks havoc on your life as you so foolishly seem to think it will, stupid patient, then we will just schedule another excruciating appointment, because I get paid more that way and your inconvenience does not matter to me at all.”
Which is why I am waiting until tomorrow. I apparently still have some hormone rage left over and probably shouldn’t tell my doctor that I think she is an incompetent quack.