I kicked the car and slowly gimped towards the house, after the day I had, I was lucky I could move.  I've been awake since yesterday, since I couldn't sleep last night.  By the time I finally got tired, I was afraid I wouldn't wake up in time to make it to the doctor's office.  Another year, another friggin PCOS induced run to the gynecologist. I won't go into details as you really don't want to know.

I drove there slowly, in my battered old green Ford.  It's a pile of crap, a piece of shit, a car I wish I had never bought.  It has been the money pit of the automobile world.  I got there early, went inside filled out all the paperwork (why do they need to know things that have no bearing on your health?  I understand the normal history, but damn.)

The Dr sat down with me, did the intros, did part of an exam, decided I needed a pregnancy test (um, duh, infertile, no ovulation and close your eyes, guys, bleeding.)  I did that and Lord knows I hate the damn peeing in a cup shit.  Of course, it's negative.  She then decided I needed an endometrial biopsy.  And yes she used the C word.  Joy.  I'm all alone, exhausted, and now she thinks I may have that.  Good grief.

In the stirrups, scooting my ass down and down and down.  I swear to God they want you to feel like you're about to fall off the damn exam table.  She inserts the speculum and tries to see my cervix.  Nope, I'm not positioned correctly. I have to scoot further down the table, all the while trying to cover myself with a damn paper towel.  

And then, "You'll feel a pinch and some cramping."  

Pinch and cramping my ass.  It felt like she was poking a cattle prod through my cervix and punching it through my uterus.  I could feel the damn brush scraping against my insides.  The only thing any woman should ever feel moving around in there is a baby, dammit.

I'm breathing as best I can, trying not to cry, and she's counting.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6,  "For the love of God, hurry up."

5, 4, 3, 2, 1,    The entire time she's counting as if she can't remember how to count backwards, she's scraping my damn uterus.  My body does not like it. Hell, my damn body is trying to cramp over and beat that shit the hell out of there.  I can't hold back the whimpers anymore and out they pour.  She finishes, I get dressed, I pay out the ass for the privilege of being in this much pain.  

Now, I have to wait for the biopsy results to come back.  I never thought I'd be 28 years old and waiting for this kind of test results.  I'm not going to lie, I'm scared.  I'm hoping and praying that this was all for nothing.  If it does come back bad, I don't know what we'll do.  I can't think that far ahead right now.

As for the piece of shit car, when I finally hauled my ass back to it, settled in, and tried to start it.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The fucking starter is screwing up.  I eventually got out to kick in, drove to the pharmacy, left the car running and dropped off my prescriptions.

The car will not start again, Mom's going to pick up my drugs for me.  I'm going to sleep.  I've been awake too long, I'm an emotional wreck.  

Tomorrow will be a better day.