Hug Therapy

michelleIt’s been a rough three weeks for me.

First, I got the flu on the eve of my trip to Florida to meet The Swede and I had to cancel.

All that vacation prep down the tube:  nails, pedicure, body scrub, spray tan, hair.

I felt very sorry for myself, I’ll have you know.

But just as well since I have a busted pussy that I’m not allowed to use.

Speaking of the busted pussy, it’s screaming at me right now from the biopsy.

To be honest, it burns something fierce and I’m really irritated that I have to deal with the painful aftermath of the biopsy while trying to focus on work.

Someone should bring me cake, just to cheer me up and remind me that my busted pussy is only temporary.

At least, that’s my hope.

Results next week.

Until then I’ll just have to keep living this celibate lifestyle, hoping and praying that everything turns out normal.

And I’m not one to complain but it sucked to go to unSCruz for five days and not be able to flirt AT ALL.

I love flirting.

Breathe.

Flirt.

Breathe.

Flirt.

Fortunately, I was able to hug A LOT of people.

Hugs are the exact therapy I need to treat all my worries.

Send virtual hugs, please.

I’m in need of some.

Unremarkable

This blog post isn’t pretty.

Nor is it fun and lighthearted.

It’s serious.

It’s the C-word.

No, not THAT C-word (which I HATE with a passion).

Cancer.

Both my grandmothers died from gynecological cancer at a young age and I hate that cancer robbed me of a chance to meet them and get to know them.

I was 22 when I was reunited with my birthfamily.

So when I had my latest PAP smear come back irregular, I panicked a lot.

My doctor called me in for a biopsy.

Now for those of you who DON’T have a cervix, imagine a soft, delicate organ hidden safely within the depths of your body.

Now imagine someone using a harsh bristle brush and a device to CUT away pieces of that organ,

Ouch, right?!

BIG ouch.

To make matters worse, the doctor used a COLD speculum which almost lifted me out of the stirrups!

She grabbed her samples of my misbehaving cervix, and swabbed my nethers with something that looked like Dijon mustard which stopped the bleeding.

“So what do you think?” I asked.

“Your cervix is UNREMARKABLE,” she informed me.

Never was I happier being described as being unremarkable.

So now. . . the waiting game.

Is it pre-cancer? Cancer? Just a blip in my medical record?

Only time will tell.

But until the test comes back, there’s nothing to do except rest my mustard coated vagina, and try to chill the fuck out.

Wish me luck!