did you know that an unhappy uterus use to be the suspected cause of hysteria? the uterus, unhappy with its lot in life, would pack up and take to wandering around the body, bumping into various other organs in its quest to live its uteranlife to the fullest.
these inter-organ encounters were what made the patient hysterical.
i dont know about anyone else, but i find this to be an unbearably cute idea. the unhappy uterus packs itself up, carefully preparing a lining rich in blood and nutrients so that it can weather any harsh environments it may encounter, bids goodbye to the fallopian tubes and sets off into the unknown world of the intestinal tract, and beyond.
after several months of wandering, the uterus has had nothing but bad luck - first it was unmercilessly stoned by the gallbladder, attacked because it had stopped to ask for directions of the wrong organ at the wrong time. then it had found a false friend in the bladder, which had pretended to feel it’s pain of being filled only to be emptied, but had really only wanted to beat up the uterus for any drugs it might be storing in it’s lining, which it did with the help of the kidneys.
robbed, beaten up, and feeling lost, the uterus wandered north deeper into the intestinal tract. it was cruelly shunned by the colon, laughed at by the duodenum, and threatened with time in the stocks by appendix. utterly alone, the uterus retreated to a barren space of muscle in the lower back where it remained for many days, crying vigourously, cramping itself over and over as if to ask “what’s wrong with me? why can’t i just be a HAPPY uterus?”
after much thought and introspection, the uterus decides it would be best if it took its own life, and so it heads north again, planning to be pummeled to death by the rise and fall of the diaphragm. sadly laying itself down, the uterus, sniffling, awaited death when to its surprise it felt a tap on one of its shoulders. it looks up to see the stomach peering down in a concerned manner.
“are you ok? normally i don’t try and concern myself with other organ’s business, but it’s hard for me to do my job when i hear people sniffling. not because i feel bad for them, but because the idea of all that mucus and all those tears mingling together makes it hard to concentrate on digestion. so will you stop crying, or atleast go cry somewhere else? not to be rude or anything…”
the uterus explains its problems to the stomach - how it went off in search of fulfillment only to meet with rejection and failure. “so here i am,” it said, wringing itself with tears. “ready to die.”
the stomach was truly moved. “there there,” he said tenderly, patting the uterus in a comforting manner with the peristaltic valve. “i too know how painful it is to spend all that time and effort preparing a load of nutrients, only to have them whisked away from you. why dont you stay here with me? you can help me digest food, which actually helps the person out, instead of your old job, bleeding every month for no reason, which really just annoyed them.”
the uterus agreed, and soon the pair were fast friends. the patient, who had up to that point suffered from hysteria, began complaining of infertility, but as she had quickly gained 200 pounds, everyone chalked it up to her being to fat, so the uterus was never suspected of not doing its job.
that’s what they happened in the in the old days, anyway. i think today hysteria is chalked up to childhood trauma, or something, but that idea isn’t nearly as fun. too bad i can’t write my psych essay on this stuff…i’d be done by now.
