A Bloody Difficult Week

I withdrew from the world for a few days for a myriad of reasons. Honestly it was nice at first though. Like stepping into the warm ocean but as I kept getting further from the shore I knew it was only a matter time before I drowned. Mostly I’d prefer to drown rather than let anyone throw me a raft. 

It was an intense week even looking beyond the usual winter depression pits I find myself in normal Decembers. Both my parents were hospitalized with Covid, a day apart from one another. My dad going in first, still on blood thinners now for a pulmonary embolism. My mother, the next day having more trouble breathing, made it out to the the front step where the medics read her oxygen levels at only 80 % and gave her O2 immediately.

The first day she went in I was unreachable with my phone off. I still feel the guilt of unintentionally making my younger sister take the lead on that. My brothers, who nearly 2 weeks after they originally took the test are marked positive with Covid too, were left alone with the fear and anxiety they most likely pushed under. As my sister put it, they were fine. Kev at 22 & Ry at 16 most likely played video games and ate ramen to pass the time. Every time we called to check in there was not much said. Now both my parents are home, on pills. I still worry. Not sure if it was a good idea for them to be home or if the insurance just ran out after a few days. 

I called my mother the morning after she went in to ask how she was. She was crying that she didn’t get anything for my spouse to open for Christmas yet. Only gift cards. And that she got my sister’s fiancé more things to open then my spouse and they’ve “been in our family longer.” She still had things to do, presents to buy. 

“Mom, You’re in the  HOSPITAL.” I said .

To be fair the past 2 years when she asked me what to get them, I said I wasn’t sure. Autumn and I are still dancing around the conversation, the announcement  her being Autumn now, though A is getting to the point of wanting to at least clue in my mom soon. 

It took a while for me to convince my crying mother that time was made up and we could do christmas whenever we wanted. She insisted she needed us to all wear our christmas pajamas and take photos to send to her this year. I promised. 

Now my parents are home and my brothers are positive too. This is going to be a long winter. 

The day they returned, my period which was 19 days late finally decided to enact its vengeance. Like the last time I got it in late October , it was again a month and a half’s blood instead of 1 month alone. it was excruciating. This time exceedingly worse. I bled through the thinx boyshort underwear in the middle of the night, not enough to puddle our (luckily crimson colored) blanket underneath me but enough to get the outside of the underwear sticky .

Pulling them down was like a murder scene. Blood covered my hands, my bush, my inner thighs. I didn't know what else to do in the middle of the night. These were the only period underwear of two that were even worth it and anything else I’d have would not have sufficed. I resolved to put on the useless highcut thinx , while putting another regular pair overtop lined with 2 overnight pads for leakage. 

Highcut panties are useless to me because they do not cover the full surface area of my fat chocha lips. . I still woke up with blood on my upper inner thighs but luckily I haven’t been sleeping well so not much harm was done.

I lay in bed for 2 days because I could do nothing else. I wailed and rocked, frequently going to the bathroom for battle cleanup, watching The Spanish Princess series on a borrowed Starz subscription to distract myself.  I was in agony. My periods are typically heavy, especially in the 3 years since the copper IUD insertion but this was entirely different. Watching miscarriages' on the Starz drama unfold, I looked and wondered how much blood pours out of a womb when a fetus yeets itself. It didn't look too far off from where I was with a period to be honest.   

I hate to be "down for the count" resting when there are things to be done. There is an entirety of difference between not doing anything you should be doing because your limp depression films everything with difficulty and not doing what you have to because your body wills that you cannot. My stubborn attitude hates when anybody - even my own body- tells me what to do. But I am learning to yield to it.. Let it pass and float back when I can.