Womb Experience: The Effects

My ovary hurts every month. It makes me consider a surgery that I do not really want. The time finally came for me to go further than rubbing oil on myself; it stops the pain. The yoni pearls were a bit premature considering I once lost a tampon. However, the yoni steam was something that I have wanted to do for a while now. I opted for the full womb sauna experience. It was everything that I wanted; meditation, steam, cards, discussion.
It was not long before my bra became uncomfortable. It became customary for me to take it off halfway upon entering my home. It gradually progressed to me tugging at it during the day while at work. Now, I want gel caps so that I do not have to wear a bra at all. Bed time also began to call for au natural. These are major changes for a girl that has a separate attire dedicated to slumber. It suddenly crossed my mind that perhaps these changes were happening due to the womb sauna. My practitioner commented that perhaps I was getting more comfortable with my body. My major weight loss in 2009 really made me feel comfortable with myself. It inspired a modeling session. After sharing this with her, she suggested having my body painted. A smile crossed my face. It is something that I have been wanting to do for years and even thought about it for this coming Halloween. Look at how the universe responds to your true desires.

Dental Disaster

The sight of the tiny elevator sent me to the stairs. Into the office I wandered. Once I settled into the chair, the dentist came to talk to me. The numbing process began. Three shots later, it had not taken to his liking. The gums were given an extra dosage as a precaution, and he proceeded with care. The chair held me for what was at least an hour. My body shook without my consent. He continued to check on me as the nerves had gotten the best of me. I just wanted him to finish. Between the sight and sounds of the tools, the process was entirely too much for me. The comedy on the virtual television was an attempt at a proper distraction. I thought about my father. I thought about a new friend. The chair continued to hold me, and he continued to work.
Throughout the procedure, there were random spurts of sensations that should not be experienced by anyone. Apparently, the tissues in the tooth were extremely inflamed and there were four roots; the man had work to do. When the chair finally released me, thoughts of passing out from my first wisdom tooth resurfaced. I moved slowly to make certain that I was okay. There were directions for medication, and a follow up appointment in addition to the crown that the referring dentist would have to do. Yes, there is more torture.
The prescription was filled immediately, and I went home. Lunch is not an option, and the folding of clothes seemed reasonable enough. My mother was MIA….again. There was no one to share my experience with. The schedule shall pick up later this evening as a performance and poetry show will keep me busy. A friend shall join me to enjoy the animate prose. This is not an experience that I would wish upon anybody.

The Yoga Lass: An Island of Discovery

It is almost 2am, and it is not possible for me to relax. My body is aware that some movement took place this evening. Tuesday evenings have found me in the presence of a yoga teacher for the last couple of weeks. I have been so very proud of myself for doing something physical without any purpose other than moving my body. After my devastating pole termination, physical activity simply vanished from my life. Finally, I felt safe enough to try a studio with a yoga offering. The time was was good as well as the location of the studio. The instructor was very nice. However, this evening when I walked in, a new face greeted me. It was minutes later that I realized the new face was the new instructor. A huge smile crossed my face as my feet made a beeline for her spot on the floor. My voice was heard asking about her other locations for classes. My ears immediately detected an island lilt, and that began an hour of smiles.
She was attentive. She was understanding. She broke positions down and burned incense. Shells adorned her ankles and a scarf covered her head. Her aura was green, and her skin glowed from coconut oil no doubt…wait, perhaps that is my skin. Moving on. Apparently, she just moved to town and was only teaching at this studio for now. I do not know her name. I do not know how to contact her, and I wanted to give her my number in case she vanished. A growing predicament emerged on my cell phone, and it was necessary for me to vacate the premises.
Once my house accepted me once more, food was thrown on the stove in a hungry fit. As it cooked, my fingers shot the studio an email demanding more yoga classes with the fabulous new instructor because simply put, I loved her. I texted my yogini friend whom insisted on joining me for the next class to check out my radical find. A new mat is in order, and more yoga classes are wanted. Who is this individual that made me smile with her island charm? Perhaps I shall have a name next week.

PERIOD RAMPAGE

The cramps have begun. Between my oil and giant pills, the pain game is being played. I have been fighting with my damn uterus since the adolescent scandal of 13. In spite of the fact that I have a bikini wax scheduled for the morning, my menstrual cycle has decided to arrive and make my left boob feel like an alien has invaded my body. The ginger candy and hot fudge topping round out my dinner. I wonder if my monthly pain payments and period regimen (sleeping on top of towels, dark colors, all kinds of pads filling my purse, etc.), are accepted as a deposit towards pregnancy. Mother Nature needs to sit down with us and explain this. Women get upset over menopause, and I am trying to figure out why…..

The Barber Shop

In facing my fear of going to the barber shop as a client, there are things that have been brought to my attention. It has its advantages over a beauty salon. The barber works on one head at a time which makes the entire process faster. Although a barber shop is cash only, the bill is significantly cheaper than its female counterpart. My personal favorite is that it lacks the drama that has driven me away from all beauty salons.
No soliciting signs deter people from coming into the barber shop to harass you for your money; church play tickets, cookie donations, hand bags, perfumes. There are no children running around. Phones are not constantly ringing because people text their barber of choice. Dryers do not exist and neither do hot iron curlers. Yes, this may be a new haunt of mine.

Bold & Bald

There I was sitting at my desk. A vision came to me. My eyebrows were immaculate. My head was clean shaven. My fingers soon made an appointment with the local brow boutique. When the brows had been perfected, my car somehow took me to a place that I have always avoided, until now. The barber was pleasantly surprised to make my acquaintance.
My hands carved the tale of no more combs. The hair had to go. Down and out with the afro. I did not want to be a bald woman but close to it would be good enough for me. As the mechanism began its job, the sensation of it working on my scalp was not pleasant. The sounds of poor music and male chatter were not exactly comforting. Fist pounds served as common greetings. Tattoos were in a great abundance. There I sat in the first chair watching my mighty fro meet a dignified end.
As the mirror was pressed into my hands, I beheld the sight of my new self. Does a bald head signify courage on the part of a woman? She is relying completely on her face. Is this a statement? Am I now considered to be a bold woman? All of these thoughts went through my mind. I tipped the barber well and exited the den of men.
My dear friend was notified about the business that kept me away from her phone call. Her shock was pure. While she loved the beauty of my head, the fact that I dared to do something without taking a minute or overanalyzing every angle was simply out of my character. As the responses poured in, it was clear that my head had a fan club. I now await word from….my mother.

PMS: THE STORY CONTINUES

Trying to find the hospital in the city is like running through a maze in the dark. The directions were wrong. The traffic was moderate and there were lots of people that looked important running around in suits. When I finally arrived, valet parking was delayed so I hightailed it for the garage. The second floor was kind enough to provide my large vehicle with a space.
After I cleared security and adjusted to being in a place where people die, the elevators took me to the fifth floor where the gyn’s office was. An 11:00am appointment had been scheduled for me. After a weekend of violent mood swings and cramps before dawn, it was time for me to seek medical intervention. My abnormal behavior disturbed me.
There was an interview in a separate room prior to being seen for the main event. Am I sexually active. Why am I here. What was the date of my last period; I have an app for that. As my body settled into the second room, pictures of birth control suddenly popped before my eyes on the walls. There was a T looking contraption in a uterus. The sight of that drove me to tears. It looked simply awful. As the stinging tore at my skin, I wondered why there was such a heavy emphasis being placed on women to pop children out as their sole function in life. Before the door opened, the tears were washed from my face.
There is not a woman on earth that enjoys a vaginal exam, myself included. Between the insertion and the pressure, there is simply no relief until you are away from the office. The polite conversation fell on my sexual practices. One is supposed to feel free discussing this with a complete stranger but then you remember that it is a medical individual; you carry on. The results of my last pap were requested and there I was on my way. It took me over thirty minutes to locate my car but after crying in the office, I figured that it was right in line.
As the hospital faded into the distance, a Jamaican beef patty crossed my mind. So did my 3:30pm appointment.

An Emergence

It has been a very long time since I even looked at an exercise class. Zumba and Mat surfaced last Fall, but they simply did not hold my attention for long. The spark did not take for me at all. My stubborn streak returned me to a place of doing absolutely nothing with my body. A short walk with the dog was all I would consider for physical activity. When the overwhelming stress of work started causing health issues, the writing was on the wall. I was going to have to do something in spite of the fact that it was not the glamourous dancing that I once enjoyed.
My fingers found the account login information for my old haunts as I enrolled in a Sultry Vixen class. It would consist of a light dance routine that would not immediately put my person in a body bag. It was not easy to find something to wear, and the heels were misplaced. As I trotted to class, I thought about how surprised the instructor would be to see me. She hugged me twice.
In true Lady fashion, the routine was a simple skeleton for me to color. Once I saw my long legs in the full length mirror prancing around in heels, a great deal of satisfaction filled me. The slow music helped me sway and become the soft sensual character that takes over in such an atmosphere. The lighting was just right and so was the temperature. When it was my turn to freestyle, I saw the me that I knew so long ago. The stage was there with spotlights awaiting me. My smile broadened and there went the music. It was easy for me to paint the picture of the amorous lyrics. Applause filled the room as the music faded away. Another smile crossed my face. It was nice to see myself again.

Why I Hate My Menstrual Cycle

Dear Uterus,
I think that it is time that you understand how I feel about you. I have tried to keep the peace by purchasing different types of products to accommodate your various moods. You care nothing about my precious underwear or my life. You bleed for unreasonable lengths of time and cause bottles of Alleve to simply appear. Friends have begun delivering hot fudge sundaes to appease my ridiculous cravings.
There have been medical interventions since the day you arrived; the ultrasounds! I have tried to embrace you by wearing red bracelets to honor your presence. The fact of the matter is that I hate it when you are here and love it when you are gone. You interrupt my life as I know it. Sex is put on hold. Let me repeat that to you. Sex is put on hold. Suddenly, I am in pain and experience strong emotional upheavals. Lest we forget the trauma that you caused earlier this year. I was screaming first thing in the morning and crying prior to noon. My body spent the remainder of the day putting a hot air balloon to shame as I lay helpless on the bathroom floor.
I wore all black to work today. It was the perfect color. At approximately 10:45am, you decided to allow entire gallons of blood to gush forth like a flash flood. All of a sudden, my body felt flushed with heat. I thought that I was going to break into a sweat. As I reached for my chair, I quickly sat down so that the crimson waves could hopefully subside without anyone hearing sounds.
I do not want children yet there are stretch marks on my body. I am proud to be a woman and plan to reincarnate as this gender forever. Why on God’s green earth do I have to experience this “gift” every single month of my natural life is beyond my understanding. Why do women cry when they no longer get their period? I personally plan to have a party and invite all of my friends.
Perhaps in the future, you could be more understanding of the havoc that you cause. I will also be sending you a list of the type of underwear that I like from Victoria’s Secret. You owe me.