Fibroid-a-go-go

 Before you go and get all nervous, please know that I have permission--blessing, if you will--to write and post this blog entry. I may be dumb but I'm not stupid--I knew that writing this without explicit permission would lead to only bad, bad things. 

I am here to talk about....the wife's new friend, Frieda Fibroid. Friend really is no friend but since she's here and since she's quite....demandingly large, we figure naming her is only fair. 

  How do we (and now YOU) know about Frieda Fibroid? Because the wife is home to grapefruit sized, feel-it-in-the-belly Frieda and there are some things in life that are hard to miss, being a fibroid of that magnitude one of those things. This is not a happy time in the Addiverse, as uninvited Fibroids cause lots of turmoil and stress, not because they are fibroids but because of what they might have been before being diagnosed and because of what you have to do to get rid of said fibroid. 

We are fibroid-ignorant, so we have been reading lots of materials on removal of fibroids. Of course, the first thing the wife's primary care physician says involves the word "hysterectomy." He must be living in the dark ages, as every book and web site we've perused has said that if the doctor's first words involve hysterectomy, you should go get another opinion and/or doctor. 

  Now Frieda IS really kind of friendly as she really doesn't do anything except sit there. She's probably growing, but otherwise, she's not causing any symptoms. All the info out there suggest that friends of Frieda can cause quite the havoc but Frieda is just a big fat blub of nothing...well, a big fat whatever fibroids are made of (and we DON'T want to go there). 

Being that Frieda is so large, the doctor has ordered all sorts of fun tests for the wife to endure. For those of you who actually know the wife, you know she is rather...um....um....wuzzy when it comes to medical things. She doesn't like anything to do with blood, pain, hospitals, testing, etc. In fact, she would me bleeding on the sidewalk if it came down to it. (Did I ever tell you the story of the time she left me lying on the softball field, bleeding all over first base? I have to get around to that.) Her first test is scheduled for this week and has the wife all frenzied, not that I can blame her. It's the "drink til your bladder is going to burst and then drink some more while we shove this probe up your hoo hoo and push on your bursting bladder" test. Yummy. She is not thrilled or entertained by this process. Her next event will be meeting with a specialist who will undoubtedly shove this and that up the hoo hoo and come to the brilliant conclusion that yup, it's a fibroid. 

After all the testing, it's on to treatment, which from what we've read may include doing absolutely nothing, which is cheap, non-invasive and involves no blood. I can tell this is the wife's first choice, although she realizes this means she will have to go to the doctor more often. (I won't go into that lecture.) A growing grapefruit might demand attention, so we are looking into all sorts of holistic options, from reflexology to taking herbs. I am thinking I will ask My Beloved Lady Chiropractor if she has any treatment that would work for a fibroid. (I'm sure she'll have something to say as it seems to me that the posters on her office walls suggest that chiropractics can cure everything.) 

The wife is also looking into how stress or life issues may be contributing to the problem. Many sources have indicated that life issues seem to add to the fibroid fun. My guru, Dr. Christiane, does indeed suggest (and I am poorly paraphrasing here) that the wife is either blocking her creativity or that she needs to look at a dead end relationship... ....hey, wait a minute! That better not be ME causing that fibroid. I ain't no dead end relationship! (This thought does cause me to behave appropriately when interacting with the wife.) Anyways, I think the best therapy is what we are going to do right after I finish this blog entry: we are going shopping. It' "door buster" day and I can't think of anything more therapeutic for the wife than shopping. I'm hoping Frieda likes to shop but not enough that she wants to stick around. Frieda has got to go but we'll love her for the moment..... ....and I'll be on my best behavior while shopping so I don't get called a dead-end nuthin.