Rip My Guts Out: 100% Uterus Free

I'm home in my own clean sheets. I still walk like a 90 year old woman with a piano on my back but Matt says my shuffling is sexy so . . . that's weird. I got home on Saturday after four long uncomfortable nights at the hospital. My house is filled with so much love from all my friends and families. My kitchen table, had so many beautiful flowers on it, it looked like I walked into my uterus' funeral. They are gorgeous and I have scattered them around my house and oh how they bring a bit of spring into every corner. My friends have given me books, and slippers, and sweets, and meals, babysitting, Love and prayers. If I were a cheerleader I would come to each of your houses and do a routine exuding my love for all of you. I would to, except, If I use my severed stomach muscles at all it makes me break out into tears faster than a Hallmark commercial during Christmas time. I hope you all know you have a gift I don't have. I am not good at meeting others needs. I have lots of nice thoughts and great ideas and the most wonderful intentions that never see the other side of my brain. I so admire people who don't just think nice things, they do them. This will be my New Year’s resolutions one of these years. As soon as I lose those last ten pounds.

My brother came to visit me the first two evenings at the hospital. He didn't mind one bit that I could open my eyes because I was so nauseous and tired. We joked, and having him be there made me feel protected in a way only a big brother can. Getting prepped for surgery I wore a soft paper gown and when I laid down the nurse plugged a hose into the gown that blew in warm air! It felt like Hawaii (plus the dread of impending surgery). I told my bother while in recovery that I thought we should market this to the Snuggie Company and have them add the hot air hose feature. I loved the feeling when I was a little girl to stand over a forced air heater and have it blow my nightgown up like a hot air balloon. So I pitched the idea to my brother and he came up with the name for our product . . . the Blowie. You heard it here first.

Surgery . . . thankfully I was fully in the wild blue yonder while it was all happening because my doctors says it was rough. His exact words were "I'd be perfectly happy to never do a surgery that complicated again." He knew after 30 seconds of the laparoscopic surgery that he'd have to open me up. Once in, he said that it looked like someone poured super glue throughout my abdomen. The procedure lasted double the time he expected and I lost a lot of blood that caused me to have a double blood transfusion. And the good doctor in all his wisdom took every last trace of my uterus, ovaries, and cervix. Pretty much all my inner woman was removed but in exchange I got this fancy estrogen sticker on my belly and no more evil periods EVER! It was a good deal. I've lived with that pain since I was ten years old. Ten.

I have a great story of how I cried to my mom the first year that I had started my period. I was in the fifth grade I hated having to take my backpack into the restroom to change. Kids my age were just learning how to use a period at the end a sentence, other than that the word had no second meaning. So my mother, (who was not a seamstress) decided to make me something a little more discrete to take with me to the powder room. She took me to Joann's Fabric Store and let me pick my favorite print. This was 1987 so I choose this neon paint splattered fabric that was like. totally. radical. We bought a yard and my mom laid a giant pad onto the flat fabric (remember this is before they came folded in thirds with the cute pink package.) and traced out a pattern that sorta looked like a big envelope. When it was finished I had myself one big bright neon pad cozy. I am sure it could have been seen from space but somehow it did make me feel a bit more confident.

So now my bed is my only dwelling and my husband has become superman. He lifts me out of bed, dries my legs out of the shower, brings me my every whim, sole caregiver of my children, he's my arm in the middle of the night when I just need a new position, my medicine controller, my slipper put-er on-er. He even supplied my nightstand with all my favorite treats because he was worried I wasn't eating enough. And he is so CUTE I can hardly stand it.

Well I thought I'd give you a tour of my life right now. This is my nightstand.


My reading material.

My candy stash.

Me in the perpetual state of rest.