The Shameful Addiction of Suck and Chew

The essay below is my submission to the STSC Symposium, a monthly set-theme collaboration between STSC writers. The topic today is “Beginnings.”

My fibroid’s name was Betty. She was the size of a softball but was removed in pulpy pieces so I only saw remnants of her in photos on my doctor’s tablet.

Fibroids are non-cancerous muscle tumors of the uterus. Some come in clusters, and some - like Betty - come in one. An only child, just like me. 

She fed and fattened in my not too big uterus until I had the tell tale signs of a fibroid: heavy periods, longer periods, bleeding between periods. Edgar Allen Poe’s tell-tale heart was wrung out in gushes from my pelvis until I was, apparently, anemic

Anemia occurs when there are decreased levels of hemoglobin in red blood cells. Hemoglobin carries oxygen to the tissues in the body such that when someone is severely anemic, their body is being starved of oxygen.

An incremental suffocation.

Symptoms of Anemia:

Fatigue, weakness, shortness of breath: Before I knew Betty made a home in my uterus, she left me winded on hills and weary on walks. I blamed my quick exhaustion and slow pace on the excess weight of the 138 pounds I carried on my 5’ 2” frame. Even tho all I wanted was to hike all day with Juan and listen to music deep into the eve with Jim, I’d tire on the treks and be asleep on the davenport before 10 pm. 

Pale skin, headaches, cold hands: My inner eyelids were house-paint porcelain and even rare embarrassment couldn’t bring the pink to my face. My skull was a cage for the winter-bird flush and flutter of daily headaches. And my hands. They were icier than my eyes when I wordlessly lose my temper. Jim would yowl in pain if I touched his bare skin unexpectedly, which is a saturated action in new relationships.

Pagophagia: And then there was the ice. Pagophagia is a form of the disorder called pica. Pica is the compulsive eating or craving of nonnutritive substances, sometimes a symptom of iron-deficiency anemia. Pagophagia (from the Greek pagos for “frost/ice” and phagō for “to eat”) is the compulsive consumption of ice. This is the one symptom of my anemia that I always forget until the last moment, probably because it is indurate with such shame.

I am the magpie pecking at your congealed sleet.

My personality tends toward addict, which is why I no longer drink or smoke. We recently emerged from the headiness of the holidays, the time of year I crave alcohol the most - the dark drinks, like Black Russians, and their creamy compatriots, the White Russians. The thirsting never forever goes away. So, talking about my ice addiction comes with as much embarrassment as talking about what I never called my alcoholism. We pick and choose the stories we tell and how we tell them, so that I’d distill stories of fellatio with bravado and witty self-effacing humor but would never share the sheer unworthiness that led me to the zipper in the first place. 

At the height of my pagophagia, I was chipping away at the lopsided glacier in the bottom of our freezer with a hammer and a flat-head screwdriver and feasting on the shivers. Jim never spoke a word of this physically-induced mental illness, but looking back with a brain fully fed with oxygen, I can see his concern.

By the morning of my hysterectomy my hemoglobin level was 6. A range between about 12 and 14 is normal for women, with a low hemoglobin level anything below 11, and severe anemia diagnosed below 7. The surgery was nearly put on hold by my doctor until his concerns were calmed by the anesthesiologist, and the decision to have a couple of units of blood on hand. The thought of a delay was may way out. My anxiety was already elevated, and now I saw a path to my escape from all that I was afraid of; dying on the table, waking up during the slicing, falling victim to a fatal infection, and hysterectomy-induced sexual dysfunction. I begged Jim to take me home, telling him I was okay and could surely keep living this way. He held my hands and calmed me down.

So into the operating room I was wheeled, and what was scheduled to be a 2 hour surgery ended up being 4 hours. Someone else’s blood was given to me during the cutting, and then 2 more units warmed my arm the next morning. First blood of another to expand my veins.

After the surgery, none of my fears came to pass, yet we continue to fear anyway. How I wish I could go back and hold my terrified self and soothe me with repeated “it’ll all be okay”s. But there is really nothing more to say beyond that was the day I began my life filled with new blood.