So… I finally got birth control. I’m overly proud of myself actually. The only unfortunate part is that it’s SO expensive. After my first ever gyno exam, (which ended up not being bad at all because my doctor is *amazing*), I made sure I kept the nerve up to ask about birth control.
My past experiences made it difficult to do. As a matter of fact, I had gone into the appointment yesterday with my story all worked out in my head. It went something like this: ‘Yes, this is my first ever gyno exam, even though I’ve been sexually active since age 19. Why? Well, while in High Point, I saw no reason to go to the skeevy clinic there since I’d be moving home soon anyway. I couldn’t go to a real doctor because then my mom would know I was seeing a gynecologist because I was still on her insurance. If she knew, she would assume first that I was pregnant, or second (and no less horrible), that I was sexually active enough to worry that I was pregnant. When I got home last summer, I got a job with benefits as fast as I could, and this was the soonest I could get in to see the doctor once my benefits kicked in.’
Sounds good, right? It’s also not untrue. I really truly did not want to go to the clinic in High Point by myself, which is what would have happened because no one down there would have gone with me. I was also in no hurry if they ended up finding something wrong with me. Then I’d inevitably have to talk to my mom about this. :: shudder ::
Luckily, neither the doctor, nor the nurse, were surprised that this was my first exam. They didn’t ask me why I took so long to get one and they didn’t stare at me, surprised and disappointed, for letting the fear of my mom keep me from doing what was medically necessary, (like the attendee at Bunt’s place did). That increased my confidence somewhat. The only thing that threw me off during the whole thing was when she asked me about my family’s cancer history. Damn. It wasn’t totally fair, because those questions were not listed on the paperwork they sent to me ahead of time. I did my best to remember, but my family history folder was far from complete when I was finished.
My new doctor is a little Indian woman. She was a talker too. She had me set up, checked out, and done in a matter of minutes, (at least, that’s how quick it felt to me), while she talked candidly about very innocent topics, including questions every so often for me. When she was done, she asked me if I had any other questions. Yay! A perfect opening, and I didn’t even have to create it myself. What luck. I explained that I was interested in getting another form of birth control, (other than condoms). She asked what I was interested in, but honestly, I knew very little about the different kinds of female birth control. I did my best to remember what I learned in health class when I was 15, and then what I’d learned when I tried to do some research on the methods more recently. The best I could come up with was that the pill would be difficult for me to keep up with, but it was the one I knew the most about. I even knew certain brands. After explaining all this, I said I supposed I was interested in the pill, but wondered what she suggested.
She looked at my file and suggested that, with my history of migraines, maybe the pill wasn’t the best form for me. She put me on the ring instead. It’s a once-a-month thing that even came with a timer to help me remember to change it out. Awesomeness. The downside? Each little ring costs $40. Ouch. I’ve already started looking at my budget to see where I can cut other things out and save up for this. If I end up not having any terrible side effects, this might be a good way to go. It beats having to remember to take a pill everyday, something I have trouble with when I’m just taking antihistamines for two weeks to get rid of a cold! We’ll see how it goes. I have some more questions, that I guess I should contact her with, just so I don’t screw anything up. Haha, she also mentioned that my partner shouldn’t feel it. I almost scoffed, and said, “That wasn’t a concern of mine.” Instead, I just nodded, and kept my mouth shut. Honestly, J won’t mind what it is, as long as it prevents kids, especially when those pesky condoms slip off.
My second doctor’s appointment did not go nearly as well. I went to see a doctor from my childhood. He was the plastic surgeon who injected a different keloid scar on my ankle and shrunk it, pretty successfully, when I was 8. On this trip, my mom came with me. I somehow remembered the pain of the needle, and knew, even as an adult, I would need someone’s hand to squeeze. The doctor didn’t recognize me or my mother, until my mother made some pointed comments about other times we’d seen him. This seemed to jog his memory. Then he launched right into examining my ear.
Unfortunately, because the keloid scar on my ear is so big, he cannot just inject it like I’d hoped. He’d have to surgically remove it. This is unfortunate. I hate hospitals enough without having to stay in one. He assured me that I could walk in, have the procedure, and walk right out in the same day. Okay, that sounds okay. Unfortunately, the chances of the keloid scar coming back worse after the procedure is about 70%. For that reason, he recommended some radiation treatment. His tone of voice made me believe that he was trying to sell me on this, but that wasn’t necessary. I wasn’t afraid of the pain, because the aching I’m experiencing now is probably worse. I was annoyed that the thing could come back worse, and that there was little they could do about it. I wasn’t worried about the radiation either. Once he’d finished, I basically asked, Where do I sign up? I’m anxious to get rid of this thing.
And finally, the last unfortunate obstacle to getting this removed: the probability of my insurance company paying for it is slim to none. As soon as insurance companies hear “keloid,” they automatically assume it’s simply cosmetic and refuse to pay for it. Trust me. I don’t care how this thing looks. It hurts and itches constantly. The doctor even (apologetically) explained that he’d have to leave a flat scar on the back of my ear. I felt bad for his apologetic tone. I’m not all that worried about it. It’s better than the growth I have on there now. I am by no means a beauty contestant, nor will I ever be. I like most of my scars because they came from sporting events, or a bike crash, and have crazy good stories attached. This one though, doesn’t. And it’s painful, unlike the other ones.
So before we can schedule any surgeries for the ear, I have to wait to hear from the doctor’s office, who is, in turn, waiting to hear a yes from my insurance company. :: shaking head :: I guess this is it for any piercings. They’re too expensive when they don’t work out.
I’m hoping J will hurry up and make his mind about where he’s going after the air force. By the time I’ve finished convincing myself that I can thrive in the location he’s chosen, he goes and changes it. L Right now, he’s hella excited about Wyoming and the prospect of not working, (as opposed to Eugene and his ANG position). I can’t believe how sad I am right now. I’ll just have to talk to him about it this weekend, because I know, without a doubt, that I would not be able to thrive in Laramie, Wyoming. I’ve already looked into it. There aren’t really any jobs for me there, the ocean isn’t nearby, it’s still far from home, and if J is gonna be riding his bike every weekend without me, there better be something there for me to do too. I think Wyoming is another place I’m not willing to negotiate. It’s right up there with Biloxi and Goldsboro. The only reason Wyoming was another choice was because of the ANG position. If that’s not a factor, there are a whole bunch of other places that are fair game. Ugh, I feel like I’m going to cry right here at my desk. This is no doubt resulting from the new birth control I have. The hormones are already kicking in I guess. I’m afraid of talking to him about this face to face because I don’t want to cry in front of him. I don’t know what to do though. I need to talk him out of Wyoming. Eugene I could handle. Even parts of SLC would be possible. But Wyoming is too much. If he says, “Fine, then this won’t work,” well then, I guess I have my answer. I won’t waste anymore time on him then.
I don’t mean to sound like a bitch. I just need to figure out what I want so I’m not dragged along with everything he wants. My email in response to his newfound excitement for Wyoming went like this: “Um… maybe we should talk about this when I come down. Wyoming is a little harder for me to swallow.” That was it. He’s not gonna like that at all, but for a girlfriend, I’m amazingly non-whiny. I don’t complain. I didn’t expect anything on Valentine’s Day. Hell, I didn’t even expect anything for Christmas! I spend all the money to visit him and don’t say a word. He complains about money when he comes to visit me… well, that one time he came to visit me.
Have I just answered myself?! It’s not the answer I wanted. Maybe he’s not the guy for me. I don’t care how rash I’m being. Writing it here means I won’t say it out loud around him. If he is going to make a decision to live someplace even after I said I couldn’t move there, that’s probably it. I feel like I’ve been very flexible… maybe too flexible. What are all those quotes about men being like children, and children liking rules? I’m definitely going to try it. I have to go with research though. He respects research. He even asked me where I would suggest. Honestly, if ANG is no longer an issue, there are so many places he could go. I would just have to figure out pricing. That’s all. I guess that’s what I’ll be doing tonight after I’ve finished packing. I have to do something. I’m so stressed about Eugene. I doubt I could entertain somewhere else even further from civilization. Ugh… it makes me sick thinking about it.