Showing posts with label uterus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label uterus. Show all posts

Friday, June 20, 2014

A Perfect Lady Business Storm

This week three Very Annoying Posts came across my screen in a perfect Lady Business storm to set off this triple-header of a rant. Salty language and all the triggers I've ever had are included. You have been warned.
 
George Will Mansplains "Rape Privilege",
Some Guy in North Carolina Whines about Mila Kunis and
Procter and Gamble continues to Tell Women What to Do.


#1
There have been some very eloquent and profound responses to George Will's column, "Colleges become the victims of progressivism". This isn't one of them. My very visceral and instantaneous reaction to his column was, "Fuck you, George. You don't know the first thing about what it is like to be a woman and a victim of sexual assault." If there were rewards and privileges being handed to anyone who claims victim status I'd be the first in line. Hell yeah, gimmee some of those fine benefits that are due me as a survivor of sexual assault. I'm ready for the entitlements, status, reparation, compensation and hallelujah glory that is owed me.... I sense I may be waiting a very long time for my goodies.

Women have all kinds of reasons for reporting and not reporting assault. Trust me, people are NOT speaking up because they want attention and think they're going to get some sort of special treatment. There are more compelling reasons to stay silent than to speak out.  I know stopped speaking out about my own experiences when I figured out that my story was the only part of of what happened to me that I truly owned. My words, my history, my struggle, my survival. The most painful part about being a sexual assault survivor is not the telling of the story, it's when that story is appropriated and changed to fit someone else's world view. Even when it's done with good intentions, say for instance when using an assault story as a shining example of bravery and survival, the experience is reshaped to make the listener more comfortable. I stopped talking about my experiences because I couldn't bear to hear how the telling became flattened, diminished and all smoothed out like a polished stone. The story inside me still feels to be all points and jaggy bits that open fresh little wounds all the time. Tell me oh Great Mansplainer, where is the privilege in a heart full of glass?

#2
Then Mila Kunis did a very funny bit on Jimmy Kimmel telling men to stop using the phrase "We are pregnant". It was a fluff piece, done from the perspective of a very pregnant woman and it made me laugh because I remember thinking the exact same thing when I was pregnant. Not long after, a couple of people posted links to this guy who found her bit  "troubling and hurtful" and wrote "An Open Letter to Mila Kunis: A Response to Taking the 'We' Out of Pregnancy".

Oh for fuck's sake and fuck you too, Paul. You don't get credit for being pregnant and you don't get to claim anything other than being a loving partner and support person. Your desire for inclusive language comes dangerously close to the way men talk about women's bodies as property, as something they should have decision making power over. Let's be really, really clear - pregnancy belongs to the person who's body is changed forever by growing a couple of human beings inside her.  "We" don't have permanent edema from tissue damage. "We" don't have hemorrhoids that never went away from pushing out 9 pounds of baby. "We" are not going to be breastfeeding for several years and suffer the plugged ducts, raw nipples and soaked shirts. "We" did not have a hysterectomy due to cancer caused by a virus that we most definitely shared. "We" are not going in for 3 month checks at the oncologist to make sure that "our" cancer hasn't returned. My body, my complications, my pregnancy.


There are all kinds of "we" in a relationship and parenting. "We are becoming parents." We are expanding our family." "We have decided to adopt." If we want society to be more inclusive of fathers in the parenting process, then let's stopped referring to fathers as "babysitters". (I can't tell you how many times I was asked who was was babysitting the kids while they weren't with me. Really? They're with their completely competent other parent.) Let's stop looking at dads changing diapers as some sort of frickin' miracle and assume that a grownass man can deal with a poopy diaper. Let's stop admiring stay-at-home and single dads as some kind saint who has become eversomuchmore enlightened than the rest of their gender. My mom refers to this as Kramer vs. Kramer syndrome. Millions of single moms manage to raise kids to adulthood and no one hardly blinks. One guy does it and they make a damn movie about it and glorify his "sacrifice". How about if we just take it as a matter of course that you are included in absolutely everything equally EXCEPT the pregnancy and you just let us have that one thing without getting all butthurt and sulky.

Open Letter to Mila Kunis: A Response to Taking the “We” Out of Pregnancy - See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/open-letter-mila-kunis-response-pregnancy-jvinc/#sthash.rf2DyMcU.dpuf
Open Letter to Mila Kunis: A Response to Taking the “We” Out of Pregnancy - See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/open-letter-mila-kunis-response-pregnancy-jvinc/#sthash.rf2DyMcU.dpuf
Open Letter to Mila Kunis: A Response to Taking the “We” Out of Pregnancy - See more at: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/open-letter-mila-kunis-response-pregnancy-jvinc/#sthash.rf2DyMcU.dpuf
#3
I'm sorry, but fuck you too, Procter and Gamble. Have you seen that ad for Pantene Shampoo that tells women to stop apologizing? My whole television watching life has been chock full of ads from the likes of Procter and Gamble depicting skinny made-up glamour girls tossing their hair and saying things like "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful." Now they've decided the way to sell shampoo is to lecture women on how to talk. There may be women who find the message empowering and it may have a practical application in the business world, but I sure as hell am not going to take it from a multi-billion dollar corporation who is only interested in my shampoo dollars.

I also want to know if they are planning the companion commercial that instructs men in how to be more deferential, more apologetic, more compassionate. Women apologize because they care. They care how their actions impact others, they care about being inclusive. They sometime care about looking nice, but most women I know care about being nice. "Pretty is as pretty does," my grandmother used to say. I like to think that the kindness we women have spent our lives cultivating even while carrying a load of pointy rocks in our chests, and 9 pounds of "love goblin" in our bellies is something to be emulated and prized. My words, my space, my kindness. So yes, fuck you Pantene, you don't get to tell me what to do, I got your hashtag right here #shinestrong and just this once I'm not in the least bit sorry.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Like we needed to be told this....

Normal uterus in the female reproductive system 
Golden ratio discovered in uterus
Belgian gynaecologist measures reproductive organs of 5,000 women and finds that the most fertile have 'mathematically perfect' dimensions

Golden ratio discovered in uterus | Alex Bellos | Science | guardian.co.uk

Friday, June 8, 2012

Lady Business 1 - Stupid Cancer 0

I had a follow-up today with Dr. J who poked around, peered and prodded and said I'm healing up nicely. The pathology reports were in and they confirmed that the cancer was confined to the cervical canal, and was .5 cm x 1.3 cm. No cancer was found in the uterus, ovaries, tubes, surrounding tissue or in any of the 27 lymph nodes he removed. (No wonder I felt like I had been kicked in the gut by a horse.) He'll take my results to a pathology review at the end of the month to run the diagnosis by other doctors to see what they think, but he's pretty damn confident I won't need any further treatment. Yippee! I'll need follow-up visits with him every three months for two years and, if all stays clear, I'll drop back to every six months. I'm back at work, sit-down computer stuff only, and no dancing or heavy lifting for a couple more weeks, but then I should be good to go!

Here are some things people have wanted to know:

As if...
Do you feel like something is missing? 
No, in fact there is a lot of swelling after a surgery like this, so there's a bit of pressure, bloating and tenderness. Kind of like the worst PMS ever. With cool scars.

What happens to the place where the uterus was? 
I'm assuming the other abdominal stuff sort of slurps on over like jello on a warm day. The uterus isn't all that big, so it's not like there is a big space in there to be filled up.

Do you have stitches?
There are internal stitches that will dissolve. Externally I was super-glued closed. I love that. I feel like a big walking craft project.

How's the whole bladder thing going?
This is the hardest thing to deal with. He spent 4-1/2 hours rummaging around in my abdomen, so predictably there is some nerve trauma. Once the Creepy Catheter was out, I had to learn to pee again. You know how newborn babies cry and you have no way of knowing if they're hungry or tired or wet or in pain? Well none of the nerve signals from my nether parts were what I was used to feeling - my Lady Business would start howling and I had to figure out what the heck it wanted me to do. Let's just say each trip to the john was a new adventure. Hey, at least I'm not incontinent.

What does it feel like?
I won't lie, it frickin' hurts and certain things hurt more than others. Driving sucks, walking is hard, but playing guitar is fine. Painkillers are the best invention ever, right after super robotic surgery. I get tired at unexpected moments, but less so every day. I have some hypersensitivity which means stretch pants and granny panties for a while, but to be honest that's how I dress most of the time anyway. As the nerves sort themselves out and come back to life, I experience new and different pains. Good because I was spared having to feel all the pains at once, not so good because I'm really ready to stop taking painkillers.

How does it feel to be a Cancer Survivor?
In a celebratory moment I sent a message to friends that read: "I didn't just survive cancer - I took it out back and kicked its malignant ass." I was Indiana Jones shooting the guy with the whip - my treatment was quick, aggressive and, most likely, very successful.

In the past couple of weeks I've been thinking a lot about my identity as a cancer survivor and realized that I don't feel all that comfortable wearing that label. The main reason is that there are people, including several close friends, who have my undiluted admiration and respect for the horrific treatments they were willing to endure in order to beat cancer, including repeated rounds of chemo, radiation and surgeries. Some survived, some didn't, but they all fought like hell and I'm in awe of their strength and courage. Compared to what they went through, my treatment was a minor inconvenience. I am undeniably privileged to have access to the best health care, full insurance coverage, flexible work hours with sick pay and an absolutely astounding community to support me. I didn't survive so much as lay back and let people feed me soup and chocolates for a couple of weeks. Assuming the badge of Cancer Survivor feels a little like wearing a T-shirt proclaiming "I Survived the Tea-cup Ride at Disneyland" or getting a Purple Heart for a paper cut.

Technically, yes, I survived cancer, but I'm not sure I want to shape my identity around not dying of a disease. There are so many other parts of my life that are way more important to me - family, friends, music, dance, art....Cancer Survivor is just way far down on the list.  I also discovered that it galled me to think of it as "My Cancer". That little f**ker invaded my Happy Place and I couldn't get rid of it fast enough; the last thing I want to do is sound attached to it. My mom suggested that if I'm ever tempted to discuss cancer with possessive language, that I consider using the phrase "My Beloved Cancer" instead. Thanks, Mom, as always, you know just the right thing to say.

Also I don't look good in pink.