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Uterus  /ˈyo͞odərəs/

Mildly bitter, overworked and severely underappreciated.  Herself hasn’t given up on me yet, so I begrudgingly put up with the weird neighbors.

We live near the pelvic floor, a weakening structure that needs much repair.

I’m back after a long hiatus sans womb wifi.   The new look feels like a rebirth, and it made me so happy I shed tears of blood! (ok I’ll stop with the puns – maybe).

Funniest Shit Ever

Cracking foundations and leaky basements

A dear friend of mine has a squatter and she’s finding out there’s some problems with the plumbing. The foundation is cracking and the basement is leaking.

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GOOOOOOD MORNING IN-TER-WEBBBBS (in my best Robin Williams voice).

I.  Am.  A Uterus.  Yes – a real, live uterus; don’t let this happen again – though Boss-Lady *did* think your comments were fucking hilarious!

I try.  I really do.  I try to blog and twit-twat and facedeck and all that on a regular basis but the wi-fi is soooo spotty!   If I wasn’t so afraid of getting stuck in a landfill somewhere I’d be tempted to jump out there and experience the world for myself.  But I won’t.

See…. the squatters may have damaged my walls as they were forcibly evicted from the premises, but the memory of them still finds a way to warm the place up.  Even if the repair job *does* gives off a post-modern ambiance that would look great in any colour but red.

I’m a damaged one – for sure – but I was made better by the care of a great physician.  Dr Andree Gruslin, High Risk OB/GYN extraordinaire, and her protective veil made sure that I was OK, every step the of the way.

With every grumbling earthquake and through painful flashes of lightning she hooked me up to things that go bleep and made sure I was OK.  Made sure the Squatter was OK.  Made sure that my connection to the Squatter was stronger than an army of hormones.

Today I am grateful for this wondrous lady, this warrior.  Her research in the link between placental deficiencies and pre-eclampsia will one day lead to a diagnostic tool that will save hundreds of thousands of lives.  If you look closely through the records, you may recognize a snarky bitter subject – yours truly ;).  I must say that I am very, very photogenic and passed every test with flying colors.  A relief, given the disastrous finals in my first go-round.

Between bad lighting and spotty wi-fi I often have to rely on the Boss for my news and just recently heard of her passing.  Her obituary says she’d been battling breast cancer for 10 years.  #fuckyoucancer.  I never would have known!  I mean, I saw her a lot!  She always had on the greatest shoes, her smile was infectious (a hospital being the sterile environment it is, it’s a good thing that smiles aren’t dangerous lol), her wardrobe to die for (someone said I should choose my words carefully… LOL I DID).

She saved me.  Made sure I could keep on doing my job.  A sad day for medicine this is, and I mourn the loss along with the Boss.

She wouldn’t want tears though, which is good ’cause the timing is bad.  In her memory I’m going to squeeze myself into the finest white suit and a to-die-for pair of Manolos.   I’m gonna try not to stain the jacket but make no promises.  

I’m going to laugh like no one’s watching (I’d dance…. but that might get awkward even without the shoes) – pun intended – and celebrate each day for the miracle it is.  I’m going to kick the Boss in the arse and get her to do the same. 

Because life is too short to be sad, lonely, and cold.  (wait… what?)  Because I don’t care who’s watching.  Because she shouldn’t either.

Go in peace, Doc, and God, let there be shoes in heaven. 

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