It Went Without Warning. Maybe.

You may or may not (probably not, why would you?) remember, but about this time last year I was having some Titty Troubles. See, I was peer-pressured into getting my first ever mammary-gram, and the message? Wasn't very nice. 

It was downright scary. 

It involved a lot of follow up appointments and shish-ka-boob antics (needles sticking in my boobie), and an appointment for a biopsy where I cried on the table. Not because it hurt, but because my feelings were hurt. My boobies, who I've long supported in their endeavors, were causing me angst and that was really rude of them and hurting my feelings. 

I also didn't like the amount of blood I saw. 

So anyway. I had the biopsy surgery last November 1st, and I was therefore ordered for a follow-up boobie MRI 6 months later. Which I frankly wasn't ready to face. Oh, the results of all that angst? It was nothing, but it could have been something, so I guess it's good to get it checked out, because my friend who had peer-pressured me into the gram? She wasn't one of the lucky ones, and her boobie WAS a traitor and needed to be bitchslapped into proper boobie behavior. Also known as "don't be a bully on the playground, yo."   

Now that I have my new heath care coverage all in place, and we were coming up on a year of since the Scare of '11, I figured it was time to make the appointment.  Which is how I found out my vagina is playing tricks on me.  See, I called in October to schedule the appointment for the boob MRI. Which, for the record, does NOT sound like it's going to be all fun & games, oh nosiree. But whatever. These things come with a high degree of maintenance. Apparently. 

Well, I found out that I couldn't schedule the appointment until the first day of my period, because it has to happen exactly 14 to 17 days from the start of your period.  She asked me when I could expect that. I don't know. In a few weeks? A few days? I really had no idea. I mean, I'm always quite regular - in fact, I'm going to add that to my resume. Because it demonstrates punctuality, Reader - a valid business reason, and NOT because I'd like to put "Punctual Vaginal Secretions" on my resume. I'm supposed to tout my strengths, all the career boards say so.  

Because it's always so punctual, I don't keep any records of the comings and goings of it. It shows up once a month. 

I was told to call back when that happened. 

So far? It hasn't happened. Still waiting. Going on three weeks or so.  

Interestingly enough (to me, anyway), the nurse on the phone asked if I was pre-menopause.

I don't know.

How are we supposed to know these things?

It's hard being a girl. All sorts of shit we're supposed to know.

But it got me to thinking. How do we know when our last period is our last period?? How long do I wait around before coding it and declaring myself Officially Old. 

I wish there was a way to know. A handwritten note would be a nice gesture, with a, "Hey, this will be your last period. Ever. Sincerely, Your Vagina." Because after 30+ years of "spraying out of the blowhole" (a term my ex-fucktard coined, which is really kinda funny, I'll give him that), I feel like I should have had a little going-away party, with a cake and a little party hat for my vagina. 

And maybe even a blowhorn.