03.15.05 :: 1:49 pm

post-excavation and several hundred tear-soaked kleenexes later, my doctor tells me that she thinks it would be wise for me to begin considering when I'm going to have a baby.

Dude. Rewind. What?

She's not old-school or anything, either, which is why this floored me.

So I'm bleeding onto a maxi pad, crying my eyes out at the amount of pain she just put me through and I'm supposed to think about getting pregnant soon because my uterus may or may not function past the age of thirty-two?


Let me call up Ryan and tell him to hustle me down the aisle ASAP and baby-batter my insides up nice and good so I don't lose my chance at motherhood because of the onset of cancer.

Who fucking cares?
Hack my cervix to pieces and render it useless already because I don't want to think about it anymore.

And I don't even want the remotest possibility of more aggressive treatment, of hysterectomies, of radiation, or any of it.

I hope it kills me, in all honesty. Fucking hell, let's go.

I hope, at the bitter goddamned end, it'll just be me and a hospital sheet and a first year resident taking notes.

I'm going back to bed.

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