I think I read the word “bloodless” in an Anne Rice novel. It was used to describe a woman who could no longer bear children.

There it is – a new label: I’m bloodless.

I’ve been that way for 5 years, and, in fact, volunteered to become so. Well, if having breast cancer in a strong family history of breast cancer turning into other, deadlier, cancers counts as “volunteering.” It was sort of like the analogy about choice: “Even if someone holds a gun to your head, you can still make a choice.” Right. Not the most comfortable choice though, obviously.

So, a very sweet surgeon and doctor removed the works. He was the polar opposite of the doctor who called me an overreactor. That previous doctor once told me that once women have reproductive surgeries to remove the ovaries or uterus, they fall into grief. He explained, “It’s an ending. A woman grieves because now she will never have another child, never run a marathon, and she’s not young anymore.”

Can I just pause here and ask a really important question? It’s profane.

What. The. Fuck?!

Never have another child? Heard of adoption? Never run a marathon?! I don’t even understand this one. And I guess I have no youth left now, by his standard, I have to bleed monthly in order to qualify.

Imagine my surprise: I don’t feel like a creaky old lady (yet! Haha.), I’m training for my marathon, and I realized that I don’t really miss the bleeding.

Before anyone thinks I’m crazy (because it is miraculous for so many women) let me backtrack. I didn’t start my period when ALL of the other girls did. I was a late, late, late bloomer. I was 15 years old, and thought, “Oh, thank God, my body isn’t broken.” Then, poly-cystic ovarian hell began. A period every 17 days, pain during ovulation, yay! People began to ask what statement I was trying to make with all of my black shorts and pants and correspondingly dark clothing. Errrr, it’s never safe for me to wear white?

When I was pregnant with my babies, I felt like I could do anything. Physically, those were the best months of my life. Also, I could lose the dark clothing trend during pregnancy. No risk.

I love my two children, and in another type of life I could have cheerfully had 2 more. But I don’t regret the babies who never existed – I don’t regret the life I am NOT living.

I love the life I have. Bloodlessness, and all.

So, you know, periods and stuff. Ick for most of you. But it’s just a part of life. I swear it’s not contagious. 😉

Happy #Monday, and blessings to you all.