to you, who broke my heart…

Dear Uterus, 
You sucked. Seriously… 
You were given how many jobs? Menstrual cycle, babies… Isn’t that kind of it? 
I mean, i completely get messing up sometimes. What’s a missed period here, or some extra troublesome cramps there? I totally could have worked with that… None of us are perfect… 
But what you did to me, for no reason, goes beyond the bounds of uterine decency. 
Were you special needs? Were you born sociopathic? I just don’t get what I ever did to deserve your incessant bullying. I did the math once and in the 11 years where our job was to work together- you failed me 132 times. That is ONE HUNDRED and THIRTY TWO TIMES… So, in a nutshell: EVERY FREAKING MONTH. And you couldn’t regularly screw up either.
I mean, what did you do? Were you Sybil of the organ world? Multiple personalities galore? One month you would become “skip a cycle, but here have hellishly bed-riddening cramps”, and then three months later be “here’s your period!” (ala’s JN from The Shining
And while we’re on the subject- about those “periods”… yeah. You knew you weren’t God, right? Sending down a rush of blood in the way Noah dealt with rain was a little unrealistic. 
I could have forgiven you for the completely uncalulatable, a bazillin-knives-in-the-gut cramped out, and completely embarrassing trail-of-blood memories but it was the next part that you took to far. 
One miscarriage, as heartbroken as I felt, would have been bearable. Even the doctors assured me that was normal. But why the second, with the perfect baby-boy ultra sound and the joyful husband met by crushing blows of suffocation and heartache? Why the third, fourth or fifth/sixth for that matter? Why take me (us, really) through all of that only to accept our fertility drugs and feign three months of pregnancy only to psych us with what was actually a nerf football sized tumor… 
Enough was never enough with you. You took and took, literally… Blood, babies, life, tears and then you tried to go for the kill and take my heart too. 
Your last deal- pre-cancerous cells… 
With your poker face you dared me to make a move. 
I saw your puny cancer threat and raised you a hysterectomy, bitch… 
Take that… 
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