Nova T 380

One morning last year I woke up from a terrible dream that I had a fishhook stuck in my uterus and the line to which it was attached was being violently yanked upwards, presumably into the hands of a hungry fisherman. It wasn't the horror of the dream that woke me, but rather the actual pain in my uterus. Menstrual cramps; they are something I've had the guilty pleasure of not partaking in all that much, but of course I've had my curled-up-in-a-ball days. My suffering has been quite scarce in comparison to what other members of my gender go through, but today I feel like that fishhook is back, but accompanied by his 12 cousin fishhooks, gnawing deep into my uterus and being pulled simultaneously outward and upward in different directions. Goddamn greedy fisherman! This time it's not normal cramping though, but my body's furious reaction to some mysteriously foreign, coppery t-shaped device that's hovering in the middle of my reproductive dance-floor. Nz! Nz! Ouch! Ouch! Nz! Nz!

I never take painkillers, especially not after I've seen and done the chemical production process myself in med-school. I hate pharmaceuticals and avoiding them is almost written in my honor code, but today I've guzzled the maximum 1.2 grams of ibuprofin that I'm technically allowed to take. And now I have a stomach ache... dumb, crappy medications! Without the painkillers though, I'd probably be screaming on the floor right now.

What on earth is up with this not-having-babies kind of society that we live in? I sometimes seriously wish that we were just tribal people, living in our nice tented communities, and where every natural thing that happened just happened. Girls could have sex without feeling like they were doing something wrong or were called sluts or hoes for just doing what they felt they should. Girls could get pregnant before getting their life's carreer in order or achieving some university diploma, and they knew that they had the whole village to back them up. Ah the good old times, where the medicine man blew some smoke in your face and fed you nice (now probably illegal) herbs to calm your pains and stresses and connect you with a spiritual higher power. I wish I could just have a bow and arrow and a baby simultaneously strapped to my back and that that would be the most acceptable and normal thing ever. But no, no... we live in a time where we have to prohibit all natural processes and frown upon our inner callings and desires. I might just crack and live with the wolves one of these days—funny, there's a book called Julie and the Wolves...

As far as desires go, after walking out of the clinic I suddenly sympathized with all people plagued with anaemia. I, myself am slightly anaemic, but have never understood how anaemic people can crave ice. But wow did I feel it today! I felt a ravenous urge to grab a handful of dirty snow off the side of the road and gobble it down. Right now I could run out in my pajamas and stuff a fistful of that fresh white powder into my mouth. But—why?!! Instead, I listened to reason and my inner compass navigated me, totally doped up on painkillers, to a meatball restaurant. It's a brand new place that isn't even serving yet, but I bought a package of ready-to-heat-up lamb-meatballs and fried them up when I got home. They practically vanished off my plate. I don't think I've ever scoffed down meat in such a beastly manner before, but I needed it like I was going into war.

They meds charmed my uterus with their magic for a few hours and I was in good enough shape to actually get up from my table where I'd been painting and dance to a good song and smile and laugh and sing along, but now that they're wearing off and I can't take any more for another 12 hours and I should be sleeping and now I'm starting to get a bit anxious, *breath* it isn't all that great. I mean, okay... I should be feeling like this and it's relatively mild pain to some of the other pains out there, but I've also read from women who've already given birth multiple times that this procedure was more painful than being labor. That would be great, because at this point I'm doubting whether I could ever go through with that—of course I could and hopefully one day will, but the very thought is making me nauseous for more snow...

On a myopic level I see my pain and the strange intrusiveness onto one of my most intimate organs, but when I step back and view the whole thing from a distance it's just such a bizarre thing I've done. I can't quite comprehend the actuality of it yet. Like I said before, it's such a hypocrisy. I hate messing around with nature. I am beyond anything else against the genetic mutation and manipulation of our foods, the addition of hormones into animals, into our own bodies, against pharmaceutical intervention, against counter-circadian sleep rhythms, and so on, and yet I've just messed with one of the most magically present and intense biological organisms that I've come to know. And not just understand or assume to know. But really know. What I know right now is that there's something called a Nova T 380 in my uterus, which sounds like it could be from the newest line of graphing calculators spit out by Texas Instruments... I wonder if I'm going to bleed out parabolas and sine waves. That would be cool... Maybe if I take some harder painkillers I will...

Ah, this is so weird. At this point I'm just writing to keep myself distracted from my whimpering tummies, both my stomach and my womb, and hoping that the mental exhaustion of using big words will somehow override my brain's registration of firing pain receptors. I'm so unaccustomed to this whole curling-up-ordeal. Perhaps I should just do what I always do when I feel crappy and go for a run. Wait, no. It's January and I live in Sweden and it's 2:00am. Some super swedish worry-warts will probably call the police and have me arrested for being a midnight marauder or something. Yeah, my dry humor is up and running again, I think the writing did me some good, and now I'll try to pass out for the night. Hope this hasn't been too disturbing for anyone to read.