On the 28th day I picture my ovaries as fists and I’m the punching bag. The area pulsates, throbs, writhes.
If not enough, the pain streaks. Runs down my legs, small of my back, and all the way up to my head.
Let’s face it, I’m down for the count and nobody really cares. It’s going to happen again in another 28 days. A continuous loop.
Reminder, once it’s over, you forget how bad it was.