My uterus controls my life, but my medication makes the doctors listen.

My uterus owns me. It has free rein over my body without the regulatory body of doctor implanted hormones. Though, that’s not for the lack of trying.

During the run up to my period I get severe PMS, to the point where my anxiety is up, and I’m forever paranoid, and worried about my partner and myself leaving the house. At random intervals, my brain will interrupt the regularly scheduled programming to inform me of all the horrific things that could happen to try partner whilst he is still driving. But, soon as my period hits, it all goes away. My brain reverts to slightly anxious, and occasionally sad, though generally pretty okay all things considering. It’s like clockwork … if said clock occasionally ran 10 late, and occasionally stopped for extremely stressful events.

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Under the thumb of the NHS.

The NHS controls my life.

It’s a fact. Without my pill regime, I would not be functional, and without the many appointments I attend I would not be allowed the pills regime. I also rely on the appointments to see if there’s any chance of figuring out what the hell is going on with my ever temperamental body. Spoiler, usually no one has a clue.

It is because of the NHS, my temperamental body, and the realisation that I’m not Wonder Woman that I have to pull out of attention/speaking at Eroticon 2019.

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