Last night was rough. The prep medicine made me really sick. I thought it might. Last time I needed to "prep" for surgery the night before, I got violently ill. So I was expecting it.
The good news is, after a few hours, I started to feel much better, stopped vomiting, and things began to proceed as previously planned...ok, I pooped everything I've ever eaten since birth, and then some. But apparently, that's what they want.
I did not want.
Super-fantastic-husbandy-type-person surprised me with an amazing cake in the shape of a uterus, a large group of beloved family and friends, and endless reassurance and support. It was the sweetest thing ever. There was even an enormous fireworks display, all for me. Well, it might have been an Independence Day display, set off for the whole neighborhood, but husband said I could claim it. So I'm going to. When else will I get the opportunity to say "bon voyage" to an organ, under the fiery sparks of a professional fireworks display?
I am paused by the outpouring of support and love from my friends and family. I really don't know what to say, or how to say it, without sounding like the winner of a contest making an acceptance speech. But that is precisely how I feel. I feel like I won the friend-lottery. While I have been afraid, I have barely had time to acknowledge it amidst the showers of support, well wishes, success stories, and a sea of their love. I have so much more than I deserve.
I have mixed emotions this morning. I'm scared. Of the surgery. Of the results. Of whether this is the right choice. The universe seems to be telling me that it is, because my uterus is having her last revenge this morning, and making it very hard for me to consider missing her.
I am sad. Though more children were never a possibility, I know I will always be sad that I will never carry another one inside me.
I am angry that I have to go thru this at all. I like my body parts. Even the assholes, like the uterus, who can't seem to get her shit together and function the way she's meant to function. She never could, the jerk.
But she gave us two babies. Oh, uterus, I'm sorry for what I'm about to do...
No, I'm not. She gave us two babies. We made three. And she tried to murder our second. What a jerk...
I could do this all day.
No, I couldn't. I'm due at the hospital in three hours, to go under the knife at 12:30. Well, not really a knife so much as it is a wad of terrifying pointy things, remotely manipulated inside my body, by a doctor who is surrounded by robotic equipment. Virtual reality surgery. Holy, holy shit.
I suppose it's time for my second shower...another part of my surgery preparations. Although I sincerely hope they take a few more steps to prepare me, once I'm unconscious. I certainly hope that the fate of this medical procedure does not rest within my ability to soap up my abdomen and administer a douche. Yeah, while we're on the subject of terrifying medical devices, there's one to look into. Yikes.
So, I will wash my face and feet again, and all the important bits in between, and I will try to think past the scary things, and look forward to waking up, hugging my husband, and eating the cheeseburger I will make him bring me. I will look forward to coming home and hugging our children, kissing their sweet heads, and being grateful for their presence.
And, I will look forward to a healthier life, without all the gynecological issues caused by a temperamental and inconsiderate uterus. Fuck yeah.
|So long, Sheryll!|