I miss my uterus.

The last few days have just been a complete roller coaster of moods and hormone madness.  Monday I was a honey badger* - I just didn't give a shit.  Cancer was a fucking cobra that bit my ass, knocked me out, and I woke up and kept on eating that bitch. I was ready to take a bite out of anything/one that crossed my path and taking names later.   Fortunately, I limited my contact with the outside world, so my futon and the palm of my hand bore the brunt of my wrath (note to self: watch where the hell you put your hand when drilling through wood.)

Tuesday, I felt like a naked mole rat staked out in the middle of the desert.  In August. Covered in syrup.  With a herd of hungry honey badgers on the horizon.  Yeah, THAT kind of vulnerable.  EVERYTHING made me all weepy and start crying.  Kids walking to the library after school, watching the prom episode of Glee (admittedly, there were a few scenes that were cry-worthy), just stupid shit. Tonight, that same feeling of vulnerability has been magnified tenfold.  It's a miracle I can still see straight, and we won't talk about the status of my poor nose after all the blowing I've done in the last hour.

So why do I miss my uterus?  Because it was a part of me.  We had a relationship.  Every few weeks I'd get a "gentle" reminder of just how attached we were. This tiny 9mm body part was mine and it was part of my identity as a woman.  Women around me talk about their periods or pregnancy, or their kids, and I've got absolutely nothing to say.  I'm completely disconnected from the women around me.  It's not fair that I had to sacrifice having children just so I could live to see this Christmas.   I've been incredibly blessed to have some of the best medical care in the world, and I have the love of family and friends holding me up.  At the same time, I feel like no one really understands what I'm going through.  I don't even think *I* know what I'm going through.  Every day at work, I have to hold it together.  I'm pretty sure none of my coworkers knows that almost every night I come home and at the very least get teary eyed.  My family means well, but at times I feel like they can't comprehend how hard this is.  Even with the fear of the cancer coming back aside, I'm in incredibly deep mourning over babies that I'll never have and trying desperately to hold on to the idea that I'm somehow still a woman, and that there's any kind of hope that there's a man out there that could ever consider  taking on this physically and emotionally scarred half-woman.

Yes, I know this post has been a GIANT pity party of one.  But like I said, I'm a hot mess of menopause hormone hell, also known as womb rage.

*for those not familiar with the honey badger: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg