Contraction, Contraction, What's Your Function?

Since I've already voiced my opinion on having boobs, monthly blood hemorrhaging and occasional raging infections, I thought I'd remain ever so classy and fair to give my take on the excruciating and laborious toleration of uterine torture. Wouldn't want to leave any body parts out.

This topic was spawned because of my waking this morning at roughly 4:56, feeling as if I had just had my appendix taken out, or was maybe sporting a fresh, newly installed colostomy bag. Upon wiping the sleep from my eyes and clambering my way into consciousness, I realized I simply had cramps. For the next hour, I flopped around in my sheets like fish in the bottom of an old, mildewy canoe, squinching my eyes thinking that maybe if I pretend to be a boy, I could sleep a little while longer. No dice.

After getting ready at the speed of smell, I stepped into the frigid Oklahoma/February weather and felt my lower abdomen convulse and I gripped the siding of my house for support. It stopped me dead in my tracks much like Jeff from "Today's Special" when his hat fell off. Too bad a good ole "hocus pocus alimagocus" couldn't get my uterus seizure to desist and go skipping happily down the sidewalk to my car. So needless to say, my prostaglandins continued their poisonous drip while my subconscious drove my car to work. With tunnel vision, I sat in the drivers seat and went to my happy place, taking quick, short breaths as I was sure my my lower half had been severed off and was somewhere lounging in the back seat. I tried to contemplate what actual birthing contractions might be like. I envisioned my belly peeling open like a banana and spewing forth acid and piranhas. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what its gonna feel like.

I've always thought that having a male ob gyn would be weird because how could a man really know what cramps felt like? I could never quite verbally illustrate it justifiably until today. Gentlemen, you know that feeling you get in your gut after a hard night of cheap beer drinking or maybe your fourth meal entree of sum yung guy from the chinese takee-outee? That feeling like something's coming for you. Something really, really bad. It's that feeling right before the onslaught of the green apple splatters, that intense wave of anguish and torture where you are instantaneously paralyzed, on the threshold of passing out and the only thought running through your mind is whether or not you can possibly take your next breath without crapping yourself or crying. Yeah. That's what our baby maker does, encompassing our entire lower half, waist to knees, EVERY MONTH. So if she gets stroke-faced occasionally or if she collapses and writhes in agony like Sigourney Weaver in Alien, cut her some slack and don't get all weird. You now know just. how. bad. it. can. be.