It's been a while. Happy new year. It's a sunny Sunday morning, and it feels like spring is coming. The birds are chirping a little twinklier, and yesterday it was 14'C.
Soon I'll have my last period. That'll be something like the 420th one. I can't remember exactly when my first one was, but I do remember that my sister's friend went to the Big Heart supermarket with me and got me some pads. That's a story I've embellished for laughs over the years, saying that when we got to the checkout the checkout chick went on the loudspeaker to ask for a price check and it was the most embarrassing thing.
I know it'll be my last one because I'm having a uterectomy soon. I just found out that's a word for having your uterus removed, as well as hysterectomy. I'm doing it because I have about 2-3 cups of "extra" flesh grown in my viscera; fibroids. I wrote about them here on Day 256. They're apparently benign, but cannot be removed safely. Some can. The petite ones that can be blasted with petite laser blasts. But not these two. I am reminded of how well the viscera nestles neatly inside you. There's no space for 2-3 cups of extra, so you can imagine this obstruction gets in the way.
It's not pain, exactly. Although it can be very much when I have my period. You see the fibroids increase the surface area of the uterine wall so there is a lot more blood. A
lot more. Especially last year when
nothing else was happening or was it the year before or was it both, I was regularly astounded and shocked at the amount of blood. So that'll be good. To not have that.
There are two types of uterectomy available these days. The "classic" which is where they cut you open and cut it out and then sew you up. That's been done a million times now, in all kinds of circumstances, so it's routine. It's estimated that's a six-week recovery. It leaves a 15-25cm scar on your lower abdomen, like you would have if you have a cesarean birth. I'm not doing that.
I'm doing the laparoscopic version. It's pretty gross. But a two-week recovery, apparently. I have to get an MRI first, so the Mrs. knows where everything is—gynaecologists are called Mr. and Mrs.?—and then I'll go for the surgery a couple of weeks later. Her description of it reminded me a bit of my Nutri Ninja. She puts two laparoscopic needles in each side of my abdomen, then opens my belly button and surrounds my uterus with a bag. Then she practically mashes my uterus. Mashes it until it's in a state that can be extracted through my belly button. I wish to keep my ovaries, and my cervix, but there's also the option of a full hysterectomy, which is taking all of it.
And then it'll be done. And I'll be home being quiet for a couple of weeks. Friends are being nursemaids those first few fragile days, for which I'm thankful. I feel OK about it all, I think. Relieved that it's finally happening, after all the hospital delays and rearrangements. I've been trying for over two years. I don't feel sad about the -ectomy of the man definition of woman, but I suspect I will once it's -ectomied. I normally don't feel sad about being child-free. I relish it, actually. But, sometimes I do, and I suspect this will bring it on. But, the ship has sailed, and did a while ago, so it'd only be an echo of old regret.
Funny how the removal of this particular piece of guts feels different than the others. I'm glad it's my choice, but fuck surgery can be barbaric. I'll report back.
