Catch up continued …….

And on to October.

Since May and June when my hair started falling out, I had been considering having a hysterectomy, the old woman scoop out. Actually, since I had Robee, I’ve been advised to do this.

But with the iron loss because of massive bleeding during my periods, it was time.

This was a very scary, very personal decision. There were horror stories from both camps; for and against. I didn’t know who to talk to since Mom is gone now and I didn’t have a lot of friends who had had one that I could ask (actually I don’t have a lot of friends period here in Washington, so it was even harder).

If you go to the O Holy Internet, you can be sitting at your computer until next week reading every post, news article and personal blog regarding this subject.

Just try, TRY talking to a guy about it (ie, Spouses). Men get so squeamish when it comes to women’s health issues. I’d love to know why. I can say “Testicular Cancer” until the cows come home, but to have a man utter CLEARLY the words “uterus,” “ovary,” “vagina,” or “cervix”  - well, they become completely tongue-tied. Unless it’s associated with sex and even then, it’s slang.

Thomas is squeamish about it because it’s a health issue; he dislikes any sort of illness or ailment. Brooke was the same way but it was because he didn’t like to be inconvenienced in any way – unless he could call in sick at the same time when I had the flu. That used to bug me so bad when we worked together. Ugh. Sorry. Moving on …..

Thomas hates it because he worries about everybody all the time. Ben and his stomach. Jen and the baby when she was pregnant … just to name a few. He worries constantly about each and every one of the kids. You should have seen him during the Maxito tumor episode. I thought he was going to implode.

So talking to him about THIS, about me going in and having a major organ cut out of my body while under general anesthesia … forget it. 

I finally made an appointment with an actual OBGYN that was recommended to me by a friend and bravely went in to discuss a solution.

Dr. Hoffman is a no-nonsense doctor, very little bedside manner who says it like it is. Love her to pieces. I don’t want coddling; I want someone who will tell me the truth and be as blunt as possible. The only thing I didn’t like – but I understand why she has to do it – is that she wasn’t too happy about my decision to leave in my ovaries. But there is no possible way I’m going to try to recuperate AND slam into Menopause at the same time. I’m nuts enough as it is; I don’t need that too.

Taking out your uterus is a weird thought. Here is this organ that has provided me with two kids. I’m lucky to have a functioning one and I’m happy to have my babies. But I’m done with it. Quoting a friend who said “When their service is up, they should just shrink away.” Yep. When I was 40 and my GYN suggested I take it out then, I was really hesitant. I felt like I was betraying myself or that I wouldn’t be considered “female” anymore. Such conflict we women put on ourselves.

Fast forward to now.

Surgery was scheduled for the end of September but then the conference came up and I really wanted to feel good to go so I put it off until October 4th. Schedules had to be rearranged, rides provided and supplies increased for the kids and animals. I wasn’t going to be able to do anything for the first two weeks. Nothing. No driving, No bending. No lifting. No stairs. No stretching. No major walking. Think slug. Dead slug.

I talked to the kids about what was going to happen. Felix, being female and having gone through those silly maturation classes at school, understood better than Robee.

My first response to his “why are you having surgery Mom?” was to tell him that I was going to have the doctors make me another anus so that I could crap twice as much as other humans. I thought that was a great answer but … I have always made it a point to be as honest as possible when the kids ask me questions.

So then I told him that my uterus, which was an organ in my body that holds the baby before it’s born, was going to be taken out. Not surprisingly, he liked the first answer WAY better.

All week and weekend, I did chores in the barn and yard and house, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to do much for almost 6 weeks. Extra bird feed loaded, stalls mucked and laid out with shavings for the goats, cleaning some garden boxes, shoveling dirt to fill in holes from Clyde …. all the things I could think of before leaving.

Monday before the surgery was Bowel Prep day and just by those words, one can imagine what that means. It means ingesting awful stuff so that the intestines can clean themselves of everything bit of whatever is in them. I spent about every 10 minutes in the bathroom. Special. Luckily I only had Evan to watch, which made it much easier.

I had to be at the hospital at 5:30 am. I got up at 4 (like I really slept at all that night), showered, packed and mentally prepared myself. I kissed my babies goodbye, loaded up the car and Thomas and I took off for Cascade Valley Hospital in Arlington.