hotflashtimemachine - Tumblr blog

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ever since the surgery all i've wanted to do is play the sims but i can't sit at the computer until i'm cleared for desk work

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FFO Art

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I love this character and now I have to do all the batshit endings why is gaming so hard.

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breaking the fourth wall in twin peaks

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lgbtq people are like "look at my babygirl!!!" and the babygirl is a middle-aged man who has gone through the horrors of life

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The old ways of the world are what led us here. Your intuition is strong right now. Trust it.

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What I wanted to say vs what she actually said.

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Future me is going to think this was hilarious but right now it FUCKING SUCKS.

My gynecologist called last night. The scheduler fucked up--whoever it was read "Dr. X WITH Dr. Y" on the order as only "Dr. Y." Dr. Y, my gynecologist explained, was supposed to scrub in to assist. Dr. Y, who I've never met, doesn't perform this type of procedure.

(I keep calling it a 'procedure.' That's an unpacking for the paper journal. It's a surgery.)

Normally I would blame myself for seeing only Dr. Y's name on the MyChart entry and not going "I should call someone, that's not Dr. X and also who the fuck is Dr. Y."

It's taken DBT + CBT + Lupron to train myself not to conduct a fucking damage control assessment and take sole ownership for a fuckup every time shit happens. When shit happens, it doesn't always have to be someone's fault, and the default when it isn't anyone else's fault or the person whose fault it is doesn't go "Yeah my bad" doesn't have to be my ass.

Last night I went to bed with an "I'm not upset" attitude. This morning my cat woke me up via aggressively affectionate headbutting and then turned around to lay on my chest. With her ass in my face.

Now I'm annoyed LOL. It's been 67 days since my last Lupron injection, and NGL I'm getting a little tired of being at the mercy of my ovaries.

It would have been nice to chill in the timeline where Dr. Y can do this type of surgery so the fuckup wasn't a big deal. I've made peace with the fact that I have to live in the timeline where things suck all the time, so like, what's the point in getting worked up.

I trust my gynecologist. She's going to rustle up an order for Lupron so, in the event she can't get me on the books in the next 17 days, it doesn't leave my system. Nobody likes it when the juice is loose.

And at least I'm not the scheduler who fucked up, because they're the one whose day is going to suck. I get to sit home and play video games and not think about how much this FUCKING SUCKS.

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Sorry, teenaged me.

Something happened when I hit my mid-thirties. I started playing this game whose sole mechanic is "Wonder what teenaged me would have thought about this fuckery."

Today's fuckery is: having my ovaries removed to treat PMDD.

(In case you've never seen a picture of the female reproductive system.)

Getting diagnosed with premenstrual dysphoric disorder at 36 came out of nowhere. Teenaged me probably wouldn't be surprised. Teenaged me would say something like, "Yeah, no shit. Did you think getting my first period when I was 10 should have given me superpowers? Are you high?"

Teenaged me would want to know what took me so long; why I "let" them diagnose me with borderline personality disorder and alcohol dependence when it was obvious (to me, anyway) why I was behaving the way I was behaving. I've been to rehab, and have four years of abstinance under my belt, but sobriety didn't "fix" me. I've been in and out of therapy since my first 72-hour psych hold l when I was 17. Lupron injections that started last January 2022 have given me back my brain, and since I tolerated hormone addback in September I'm a candidate for surgery.

Surgery is Friday. They're removing everything--ovaries, Fallopian tubes, uterus, cervix.

My gynecologist, my psychiatrist, everyone made sure I was aware the option of leaving the uterus and cervix exists. Progesterone is a bitch, though. If I left the uterus but yeeted the ovaries, I would have to keep taking medroxyprogesterone. Estrogen causes the uterine lining to thicken. I'll have to take estrogen until I'm no longer "of reproductive age." The hell with it. Keeping the rest of the baby factory would mean I have to take the hormone that triggers PMDD so it doesn't keep making a lining it doesn't need.

It's a good uterus. I have no complaints. It's too bad I can't give it to someone who wants it. I asked, but they have to biopsy it. By the time pathology is done with it, it'll look like shit.

When my gynecologist signed off on the surgery, I had to sign a piece of paper acknowledging that no uterus = no pregnancy. The fact that that paper exists was absurd. I wasn't expecting it.

Teenage me would have had the same reaction I did. I laughed.

When I got my first period, I wasn't shocked. Periods had been a topic of conversation at Girl Scouts earlier that year. Something traumatic happened to me a couple weeks before. If I had been paying attention, it would have prompted a pregnancy scare. I didn't know shit.

Anyway. First period. I went into the kitchen where my biological mother was--I don't remember. Washing dishes, maybe. And I walked over to our house's sliding glass back door, thunked my forehead against the glass, and said, "My life is over."

I was ten years old.

To answer teenaged me's question: "Not yet, but I'm grown and I pay my bills and have a medical card to treat the other dumb medical problems I've developed, so as soon as I publish this shitpost I'm going to roll a big fucking joint and watch anime for the rest of the afternoon, BITCH."

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Perfect Blue (1997)

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tfw u have work to do and then this happens

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Setting the tone for 2023: crouched in the dark, quietly freaking out about impending surgery, tapping my thoughts into my phone like some kind of shitty '00s ghost.

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new CDC guidelines recommend that you locate the hole that was made for you and go into it immediately

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And here I was thinking the gayest thing would be the total dissolution of western patriarchal society into an affection based humanitarian model of care by emotionally available robots.