I’m sure that it’s because I was wearing my good underwear.
Half-asleep, I pulled off the American Apparel briefs (gray with blue edging) to step into the shower. And there was blood. Not “who murdered my uterus in the night” blood, but definitely “dammit, do we have stain remover” blood. I stood staring, pajama pants still around my ankles. Five days past ovulation, this was the last thing I was expecting to see.
When I had finally gathered myself enough to pull my pants back up and find a pad, I decided to call Clinic One. It occurred to me, as I navigated my way through automated phone menu after automated phone menu, that I had never actually attempted to call the clinic: they had always called me. About five sub-menus later, a smooth automated female voice told me to dial five to reach Dr. Text’s assistant, numbers one through four having been assigned to the clinic’s others doctors. I dialed five and the phone rang, and rang, and rang. I left a voicemail, using words that I’m fairly sure I’ve never used in a message before: words like progesterone suppositories, days past ovulation and (imagine Heterosexist Receptionist’s stage whisper here) vagina.
Having decided that I probably wasn’t bleeding out, Sea and I continued along with our day. We took a cat to the vet, bought some groceries, went to the library. In the library, as I stood in the stacks contemplating covers, I heard my phone ring from my pocket. The library was crowded, but not even a Saturday crowd could disrupt the customary library hush. The sound of the voice on the phone saying, “Hi, we’re calling from Dr. Text’s office” was impossibly loud, and I scrambled out through the library’s front door to talk about my vagina in peace.
The nurse sounded totally unfazed, and told me that unless I was using more than one pad an hour I shouldn’t worry. I thought, though didn’t say, that if I was bleeding through more than a pad an hour I probably wouldn’t calmly navigate the subdirectories of Clinic One’s phone systems, and would instead get myself to the nearest emergency room. Regardless, she reassured me that the minimal bleeding wasn’t cause for concern: the suppositories could be causing irritation or, theoretically, the blood could be implantation bleeding. I’m only five days past ovulation, so this latter theory seems unlikely, but I’m pleased to know that I’m probably not dying.
The bleeding has mostly stopped now, anyways. Frankly, I’m hoping that it doesn’t come back for another nine months or so.