Uh…I don’t actually have *any* questions, let alone questions I would ask frequently.
Look. Just play along, okay?
Um, okay. But this sounds like you’re going to talk about Girl Issues. What if I’m a boy/your in-law/someone who knew you in fourth grade and don’t want to hear about your Womanly Times?
Then maybe just cover your ears and yell “I CAN’T HEAR YOU” until the end of this post. Or hey, this would be a perfect time to go and finally start watching The Wire!
I decided to keep reading. So, uterus what-now?
Next Thursday I’m scheduled for a hysterectomy. I’ve referred to the whole process as Operation Uterus Eviction because that sounds way more fun.
A hysterectomy? Why?
Because I want to wear white outfits while cute girls hug me (call me, Beyonce!) and we laugh and laugh over how WONDERFUL and AWESOME life is without a womb HAHAHAHA WE’RE SO PERFECT HAHAHA.
No, seriously. Why?
Because I’m tired of being sidelined for seven days out of every 23-30. I’m over having to make sure I have enough dark laundry washed and scheduling things like trips or even workouts around those three or so days I have Very Heavy Womanly Times.
A hysterectomy seems kinda extreme, doesn’t it?
Yes, it does, but remember, this is MY reproductive system we’re talking about, the one that brought us the 2003-2007 Years of Woe. Wouldn’t it be awesome if I could just go on the Pill? Too bad! Birth control pills give me high blood pressure. An IUD seems not fun (especially since my cervix is still sewn almost shut by my abdominal cerclage) and maybe wouldn’t work. An ablation has only a 40% chance of no Womanly Times, plus I’d have to be put under for it anyway because of my cerclage, so if I’m going to be put under why not take it all out with a 100% No-Womanly-Times guarantee?
So you’ll be in menopause, then?
Oh HELL no, I remember those Lupron-induced hot flashes and aren’t keen on repeating them any time soon. No, I’ll still have Superovary. That’s the one rule I gave my doctor: Keep The Ovary. If she gets in there and discovers too much scar tissue to keep Superovary in, she’ll just do the ablation instead and I’ll take my chances. I want to allow Superovary to ride off into the sunset on her own schedule. So no more Womanly Times, but still my monthly dose of Hormone-Induced Crazy!
For a completely elective surgery, you sure have cried a lot about it. What gives?
This whole process and the “so are we really done having (biological) children” discussion that had to precede it has stirred up a lot of emotions and memories. All my crying has stemmed not from the fact that I want more children, but that I didn’t get to enjoy the process of getting the ones I have. I never had a baby shower. I never got to announce a pregnancy and feel happy about it and assume I’d end up with a kid at the end of 40 weeks. Getting pregnant was scary and stressful and expensive. Staying pregnant required getting cut open at 16 weeks and only feeling reassured those few minutes of seeing Henry and Eleanor during my Thursday ultrasounds, but then spending the rest of the week worried that something was wrong. I never sent out birth announcements for Henry and Eleanor because I was still worried that they’d be taken away from us, not to mention that sleeping newborn babies in photos look dead to me so there weren’t any birth announcement newborn photo sessions. Once that uterus comes out, those are the only experiences I get to have. No happy ones will ever replace them.
Even though our experiences are now almost five years past, I’m still affected by them. I had a pre-op ultrasound last week; when they took my blood pressure afterwards it was 152/108. I then burst into tears at my pre-op doctor’s appointment, and had to explain that I didn’t regret the surgery decision, but that it was hard for me to see the childbirth education class flyer hanging on the cabinet right above the “get your 4D ultrasound!” flyer. Not to mention the bitterness I feel over the fact that since age 12, my periods caused so many sick days and so much horribleness and then my body refused to work how it was made to, so I’ve pretty much suffered for 25 years for nothing. I may have two wonderful, perfect, beautiful living four-year-olds, but yeah, I’ve still got issues.
You know, I only really come to your blog to look at your pictures. Why are you telling me all this?
I’ve mentioned before that reading others’ blogs during our infertility/infant loss years really helped me not feel alone. And so I make myself share our story. If it helps one person not feel alone, or helps someone gain more empathy for a friend or family member going through similar circumstances, then it gives a purpose to what I feel is an unfair situation. So that’s why interspersed throughout my ramblings about my Snuggie and iPhone are posts about ladyplumbing.
All those people shouting “I CAN’T HEAR YOU” are starting to get loud. Can I be done pretending to care now?
Of course! I bet you even still have time to get in on watching The Wire.