For most of my period-having life, I’ve been irregular. Like, seriously irregular. Twice a year at best.
(Granted, a good chuck of those years I was dealing with ED-NOS and a heady cocktail of crazy, internal and external, but.)
Last February, I visited a gynocologist for the first time. I mentioned that I’d had four periods in 2010 and I was concerned, but I didn’t want to go on birth control.
She said, wait it out, you just had two in a row, if you’re not regular six months from now schedule a follow up visit but just chill, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.
Ever since then? Every 30 days without fail. (Except a week I skipped in August—which made me period-free for Fest, which I appreciated, and then I got it a week early this month and scared the hell out of myself for reasons I’m not getting into.)
This is a very longwinded way of saying I think my uterus has a crush on my gyno.
