A Word I Can't Even Pronounce

It's hard to know when to stay quiet. I feel my thoughts run off inside my mind, taunting me to catch them and put them back into my vault of deepest fears--a place reserved for access by nightmares and times of severe hormonal imbalance.

I don't know how to pronounce the word, and when I google it I find less information than what the doctor shared. I don't know where to begin or where to end. 

It explains the bleeding, when I walk into a wall or pinch my hand in the seatbelt, while having sex, the endless blood blisters when playing lacrosse, why my bottom was purple after every time I road a horse or drove for more than a few hours in the car. It is an endless list. I understand the nosebleeds from sneezing and being tired all the time, bleeding through my dress at that dinner party. But, what about the potentials?

Perhaps it will be when that bike crashes into me while walking down the street that my spleen will burst or maybe it will be that extra hard bump the bus hits? What if I get in a accident? Do I need to wear a bracelet? Will the paramedics know that I need plasma and a blood bank? 

And as for the future, now I know that I don't have to worry about getting pregnant because my body will "spontaneously abort." I guess it serves me right for all the times that I crossed my fingers and promised to take precautions next time. And I can put away the clothes I've collected and saved for someone else. I can unfavorite all the baby sweaters on revelry because it's not happening without a lot of money and transfusions before, during, after.

I don't want to whine or complain or shout out fears. I want to say hello to you, and not think about this; I'll let it out here.