Talking to My Uterus

So, I saw my Grampa Gyne today. My gynecologist for the past couple of years, I call him Grampa Gyne because of his gray hair, crackly voice, sharp eyes, little glasses and most of all his patient, gentle manner. Gramps never rushes me.

I came to Grampa Gyne on the recommendation of a nurse practitioner at Planned Parenthood, where I've found I usually get some of the best care in the land, no matter what state I'm in. This woman sensed she was out of her element quickly, and wrote down his name and number. "He's an immunologist with a specialty in gynecology," she said. "He's just the guy for you."

Framed pictures of his four grown children are yellowing on the walls of his office, and one of them is the spitting image of a dear friend from Christian summer camp I lost touch with years ago. Somehow this put me at ease. Unusual for a doctor, Grampa always asks how my career is going (dismal, I'm afraid) and how my pelvis is feeling (part of the cause of the former).

GG is a short, overweight, stumpy kind of man, turning seventy this year. I still can't get over how it is that after his wife passed away just over a year ago, he always seems to be on a date. Not that i suspect foul play. It's just that - he's Grampa Gyne, you know? Having asked about what performances I was up to these days, he brought one to my last choir concert. She looked to be in her late 40's, long, sleek black hair, intelligent, slim, and confident. All I could think was, god, women must be desperate these days.

For the first months of our relationship I was very positive. GG seemed to know just what was up. A true scientist, he had more ideas than the last 700 stumped docs behind him. Under his care my yeast named "Crusai" was slaughtered, which had for 16 years withstood onslaught from about a thousand doses of monistat, fluconazole and other antifungals. This man may be old-fashioned, but he has a microscope and he knows how to use it, I mused happily.

GG plunged just as methodically into the question of why my pelvis hurts all the time. Yes, we know about the bladder disease. But why does my uterus hurt? And yes, as a team we can distinguish that from the ever-nagging bladder pain. And why all these white blood cells, this inflammation, and my general feeling of malaise? "Even a hang nail can make you feel very lethargic." he explained. "There's a whole cascade of chemicals which respond to any infection, which cause a whole resulting cascade. All your body is interested is in that one little thing."

This man was determined. Together (and he made me feel it was a team effort) we tried things no one had ever tried in almost 20 years of pelvic purgatory. Several courses of antibiotics (some of which took me to the edge of puking daily) and a couple courses of steroids later, (what are you doing? Oh, just shooting steroids up my hoo-ha!) we had our results.

He says I have just as many inflammatory cells as before. And my uterus still hurts, thank you, you can stop poking that, which means the source of the inflammation is probably the uterus or thereabouts. And yes, I've had it biopsied. (The doc who did that PROMISED it was more painful than childbirth.) It was negative.

GG explained this kind of chronic endometritis is usually seen in people who have infections from their IUD's. I've never had an IUD. I've never dared.

But I do have chronic inflammation elsewhere. Why, just last week I had an MRI of my wrist and what did the film say to my doctor? Inflammation. Years ago somebody stuck a camera down my gut and looked around there. Results? Inflammation. Somebody else peeked inside my bladder, once, too. What did they find? Inflammation. Knee? Inflammation. Hip? Inflammation. Throat? inflammation. Vocal folds? Inflammation. Ankle? Inflammation. I think that soon I will blow up like a balloon.

But all of these doctors will insist that these results have absolutely nothing to do with each other, the eldest with the most vehemence. Meanwhile, all the natural medicine people are out there crying "Inflammation! Inflammation! Inflammation is the root of all evil! HARK! The heart disease, the diabetes, the muscle strains! Exorcize it now! Eat as much stinky-burpy fish oil as you can possibly consume! Drink liquid silver! See your acupuncturist! Eat raw veggies! Do it NOW!!!"

GG asked me if I FELT like any of the antibiotics had made me feel better. No. Steroids? Maybe a little. He said we could keep trying those and see if we get any results.

Call me crazy, but isn't that the definition of insanity? Keep trying something and expect different results?

...other than that or a hysterectomy, he's out of ammo.

I keep talking to my uterus: "What did I ever do to you? I never beat you, I never said nasty words, I never had any babies to beat you up, or stretch you or stick you with little fingers and arms and legs to disturb you in any way. And you! Bladder! What is is you got a gripe about, eh? Did I cheat you in poker in another life? Hip, knee, ankle, wrist, shoulder. You! UTERUS! WHAT! tell me! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

Grampa Gyne said maybe it was just feeling ignored.