UFO: An Unidentified female object

My friend Amanda warned me that this particular blog post doesn't just tentatively poke its toe over the line...it doesn't just step over it...it backs up, revs up, roars forward and leaps across the line of decency and lands squarely in the TMI sandpit. So those of you with a sensitivity to delicate female issues or those of you who just have high moral character should venture over to an educational blog about the Venezuelan Poodle Moth. For the rest of you...just get ready to dust yourselves off.

On Monday, I received some unexpected news during my annual well-woman visit to the doctor. So, there I was, lounging awkwardly back while my doctor was engaged in some investigative research. Disjointed, her voice rose upwards like a small kite, the tail wavering with uncertainty. "Hmmmm...this is interesting." Not words that a woman in my vulnerable position wants to hear. I immediately went into denial-mode, refusing to even acknowledge her observation.

"You can stop here," Amanda said, breaking into my story, "it's not too late."

My doctor insisted on sharing her rare discovery with me; a discovery that would teach me (again) that being mature and responsible never pays. Five years ago, I had decided to install an upgrade to my current contraceptive system. On Monday, it was time to reboot but apparently there was a program error flashing the message, "Location unknown." Do I need to spell it out for you?

"No!" shouted Amanda, "don't do it!"

My IUD was MIA. I stared at my doctor who shared this troubling news with relative calm as she sprinkled the words ultrasound, cervix, and tipped uterus throughout our remaining one-sided conversation; one-sided because I was rendered mute as she described the knitting needle instrument with a hooked end that would be used during the retrieval process. That Venezuelan Poodle Moth is looking pretty good about now, isn't it? Should "conventional retrieval" prove unsuccessful, out-patient surgery would be necessary. I perked up, wondering if we could bundle procedures. I've always wanted LASIK surgery and I'd love to have the grotesque mole on my back shaved off. Might as well permanently tattoo eyeliner on while we're at it.

Somewhat shaken, I left the office to return to a waiting Sydney. My daughter sat in shocked silence as I answered her rhetorical, "Well, how'd it go?" She was incapable of coherent speech for several minutes as we drove to complete some shopping errands.

 "You're like a warped version of Ms. Frizzle and the Magic School Bus," Sydney finally said in amazement as she watched me hop across the Walmart parking lot. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm trying to shake it loose," I panted, panicking as I thought about that described demented device. I had to abandon the miraculous healing power of gravity when I accidentally pulled a muscle in my gluteus maximus. I began doing a mental inventory of my recent physical ailments, cursing that technology had not yet thought to attach a GPS to an IUD. AWOL, my IUD could be anywhere. Perhaps my kickball knee wasn't kickball knee at all but was, in fact, IUD knee. I stared at Brad as he flexed his sore wrist last night. Obviously, my IUD didn't follow a SOP. What is the MO of an IUD? Could it change hosts? Obviously, sleep has been elusive as I wait for this mystery to unravel. I will be skipping the customary Q & A regarding my missing mechanism. Obviously, enough has already been said on the subject. I just hope that my experience might somehow better humanity on this important issue of womens' reproductive health.

"So now you're trying to sell this as a public service announcement?" Amanda snorted in disgust. "You didn't just cross a line; you obliterated it."