Six weeks since the incident. Six weeks to the day since my new normal. If you are a woman, then you know six weeks after IUD placement is the follow-up appointment. That means that after school today I will go see Dr. McHH.
Cue the preparation. This means I need to allot time to do some self-care. My hair has been a source of pain, stress, and self-loathing. The onset of puberty meant my hair changed. It went from thick and relatively straight to thick, dry, frizzy, wavy disaster, prone to dandruff.
If you want to see the definition of homely, my 7th grade school photo will be right there in the Google images. Why did nobody tell me (or the lady who cut my hair) that not only were half head bangs a bad idea, but even worse, I should not brush my bangs to the side!?! When I used to show said 7th grade pic to students, they literally would fall out of their seats laughing. I eventually learned that if I used heat/a curling iron, I could begin to tame the beast. That doesn’t mean I looked good. Cue my junior yearbook photo.
By college my hair had calmed a bit, but had a lot of body. It was manageable. Hypothyroidism and pregnancy created a whole new beast. Suddenly, my hair was thick, dry, frizzy, and curly. After a hairstylist at a chic salon in Ballard commented how much she hated cutting my hair (bitch, I always tip 20%), I had the good sense to go to a different salon. The new stylist suggested a Brazilian blowout. The heavens opened, angels sang, and I have never loved my hair more than after a Brazilian blowout.
Unfortunately, Brazilian blowouts are expensive. I never can bring myself to spend the money to do it more than two times a year. This brings us to today. My last blowout was August, it’s now February. I am more than due for even just a haircut, but it didn’t feel safe when I was jerking all the time. My current hairstyle fluctuates between messy ponytail with frizz and messy bun with frizz. When I get to the point that my scalp hurts due to too many ponytails, I break out the flat iron for a two day reprieve.
Getting an IUD checked, means I’m going to have to lie on my back. The messy bun does not lend itself to lying on my back. I need to do my hair. This is a minimum 45 minute commitment. Naked from the waste down? I’m gonna have to shave my legs. It’s been a few weeks, cue another 15 minute allotment of time. Throw in a shower and we are talking a minimum 1 hour 15 minutes that I need to find (after I work a full day, help kids with homework, and make dinner).
Then comes the stress of what to wear. My choice of shoes depends on the outfit. The shoes then dictate the socks. Every cute shoe means I have to wear the no show socks. I hate the no show socks that are meant for flats. They NEVER EVER EVER EVER stay on. If I wear these socks, will I keep them on when I put my legs in the stirrups? I know they are just going to fling off as soon as I try to put my feet up. But if I’m not wearing the socks, will my feet stink after a full day of work? I don’t want to punish Dr. McHH.
Thus, the simple act of getting my IUD checked and the strings snipped has turned into one long anxiety/stress inducing experience. I found the time/energy to shower, shave, and straighten my hair the night before. In the morning, I attack my hair once more with the flat iron. I select a cute top and comfortable pants. I rejected pants that would have required an iron. I decide to go ahead and wear the shoes that require the no show socks. It’s a risk.
I always look and feel more youthful when my hair is straight. In honor of the added effort, I decide to draw in some eyebrows. Before my injury, I had planned to try microblading . That is currently off the table due to twitching. I look good. I’m feeling good. My kids, other teachers, all comment how improved my speech is today. I’m like, “I know! It’s awesome!” Let’s go get that IUD checked!
By the time I get to the doctor’s office, the day has started to take its toll. My hands tremor as I drive. Cool nurse chick admits to stalking my chart a bit, curious to see how I was doing before I came in that day. She tries to take my blood pressure using the arm with the hand tremors. Ha ha. Good luck with that. My blood pressure reads dramatically higher than normal.
Dr. McHH comes in the room. I can tell he is interested to see me, see how I am doing. He stands in front of me and his face falls a little. “You aren’t getting better.”
I try to reassure him. “Yes I am! You are just seeing me after a full day of work, towards the end of the week. I can drive. The tremors are less constant. Today I was talking clearer and people continually noticed!” I try to lighten the mood by mentioning how the doctors at Danish Blueberry Mound suggested Botox for the facial tics. I told him not to be surprised if he gets an email from me asking for a referral. I mean, forty years old and with all the facial twitches, fine lines and wrinkles are becoming more prominent. If the medical establishment deems it helpful, who am I to argue?
Dr. McHH has seen me at my worst. Tears and depressed. Angry. Or in the throws of labor. I think my positive attitude surprised him. Even though I was there for an IUD check, Dr. McHH wanted to talk to me about my recovery. I simply said, “It is what it is.” I attempted to explain that I’m incredibly stubborn and having to learn to push myself less. I could tell that all he really want to do was help me, to make it better somehow.
Since I have had some continued pelvic pain, he offered to set me up with another ultrasound, but I opted against it. Dr. McHH asked me when my next appointment was and seemed surprised that I didn’t know if or when I would see a neurologist again. He let me know I did not have to wait. There is so much concern in his face. I don’t know what to say. As he leaves the room, he rests his hand on my leg for a moment.
Let the record show. I opted to take off my no show socks. Luckily, my feet did not stink. I am glad I took the time to straighten my hair. It was nice to be able to lie back with out the awkwardness of a bump on the back of my head. My legs were shaved. I went into those stirrups with confidence!