The YaYas celebrate birthdays like no other. You remember the YaYas–a group of Scottsdale ladies pledging love and devotion to each other until death. We gather formally, not for in-depth meetings concerning the sisterhood, just pretty much to drink wine and celebrate birthdays.
Today it is the belated celebratory lunch of our dear Bean. Bean is her usual self; at the ready for party and gifts. Despite the fact it’s her day, she brings favors for all–a perfect glossy lip crayon. After we discuss which shade goes with whose skin tone, most problems have been solved. All that remains is whether to choose the champagne cocktail or wine sans bubbles.
There’s time for catch up: children, parents, travel and upcoming holiday plans. We debate for quite a while when the holiday hullabaloo should be, how casual, gift exchange and schedule coordination. Sisterella’s gotta get knee surgery on the docket and Perfect Blond leans in to say she’s got to have her prolapse checked. So far, it’s not a problem. No pain. No pee. No problems laughing, coughing or sneezing. But she is aware it exists. The doctor told her so.
A little fact checking on a medical site later proves bothersome. The search begins with prolapse and ends with me having a brain tumor, a frighteningly large lymph node in my neck and various cancers. All of which could kill me tomorrow. Oh, and that curve in my abdomen may not be a food baby after all.
As for prolapse, it seems bladders and uteri don’t always elect to stay in their proper homes. They wander. They explore. Sometimes they search for sunlight on their journey. Every once in a while they make a surprise appearance where they should not. That’s when they need be reigned in a bit. Enter the hammock. Yep, the hammock. A miniature of the one in your backyard.
Special mesh is fashioned into a little haven, shaped perfectly for the naughty wanderer. It cradles the bladder or uterus in its proper place. Kind of like putting a fence around a wayward dog. Or a playpen around a baby. Bad bladder–you stay put!
It’s no laughing matter. Some women experience tissue protruding from the V. Imagine that. Something coming out of there that doesn’t cry, whine or throw itself on the floor in Target. There can be leakage. Is there ever a time that whole area just behaves and minds its own business? In the most dire of cases, the uterus can fall right out.
There are no words. Only visuals. Stand up at the office. Out falls a uterus. What to do? Kick it under the desk? Pretend it’s not yours? Ask if someone lost something?
Of course, this fun and games is brought to us courtesy of childbirth, aging and menopause. Nothing to worry about. All part of the aging process. Looking around the table, nary a YaYa appears too bothered by the state of her uterus, bladder or the possibility of something making its presence known. We do agree, however, that it should probably get added to the yearly list: the gyne splay, breast mash and the dreaded colonoscopy.
We laugh. Who the hell has time to schedule all this stuff? We’ve got birthdays to celebrate. Pfft.