I’m not dead. I’m getting better. I don’t want to go on the cart.
When was my last post? Let’s see…June 4. Wow. I’m a Grade-A Slacker! Woo-hoo! That week was hell week, fer sure, and then last week I was out three days with the kids and the two days I went to work were spent dog-paddling above the projects that threatened to drown me.
Some weeks are like that.
Even in Australia.
Well, let’s see…a recap. The kids are out of school and spending their days in summer day-camp at the community center. I made a deal with the boss to work extra hours Mon-Thurs and take every Friday off to a) spend more time with the kids, and 2) save money on childcare. I still plan to have Poetry Fridays. And I've missed you all terribly.
It’s hot here. Bah summer. The air conditioner in my car is broken. The air conditioning at work is sub-zero, which I secretly enjoy. But I never remember to wear the bras that show the world HOW cold my body is. (Bing! Nature’s thermometers!)
I’m skirting the real issue in this post. Trying to stave it off like avoiding hunger pangs by drinking water. Effective, but unsatisfying.
Okay. Here’s what’s going on with me. For reals. (This drama contains scenes that may not be suitable for children...viewed discretion advised.)
In April, I discovered my body had gone all Transformer-like and made me Bloodimus Prime. The fibroids that had lain sleeping for years finally decided to emerge from their Cave of Restful Slumber and cause me to flood and cramp, to stuff sheep and pillows up my yoni to avoid public accidents, and generally become a fearful, embarrassed mess of a girl. I made a trip to the ER. My OB put me on The Pill. I had high hopes, I did, I really, really did.
My first period on The Pill was 15 days long. My second, which came 9 days after the previous one ended, was 24 days long (it ended late last week). These periods were the worst. Crime scene days. Clots and bleeding and fear and exhaustion.
Not last week, but the week before, the night before the last day of school, I flooded…badly…for three hours…starting at Boy-child’s soccer game. I thought the episode was over, and Sergei left to go work out. I tucked Girl-child in bed. Boy-child was nearly so. Then. I started passing out. Tingly arms and gray vision and buckling knees. I had Boy-child help me call Sergei. Boy-child was scared, poor thing, and so was I. Sergei flew home and took us all to the ER. When I was stable, he took the kids home and tucked them in.
As I lay there in the ER in a rented hospital gown, with an IV tube in my arm and the nice Jamaican man taking vials of my blood for analysis, I made a decision.
I can’t live like this.
I can’t keep rushing to the ER when my body decides to push the equivalent of three menstrual cycles out my cooter in a one-hour period. I can’t live knowing that at any minute, I could flood…or pass out…god forbid when I’m alone with the kids. I can’t go on knowing that it could take years before my body went through menopause and stopped this crazy train.
I had the greatest nurse in the ER that night. Sandy. She sat with me for a long time, and we talked about what was happening. The Pill obviously wasn’t working. And the way the fibroids were growing, it would only get worse.
I made a sensible and rational decision.
I will have a hysterectomy.
I saw my OB last week and informed him of my decision, which he was all for. Between The Pill and a hysterectomy is an embolization surgery they could do, BUT it wouldn’t guarantee to make things right. Why bother?
My uterus has served me well, birthin' two beautiful children and perhaps aiding in those body-wracking orgasms I’ve been able to produce. But. The time has come to say goodbye to it.
My surgery is scheduled for July 18th. I’ll be in hospital a few days, then recuperating at home for weeks after that. My boss has approved my taking time off through Labor Day. (Labor…uterus…hah.) I took myself off The Pill the day after my last ER visit.
Later this morning I’ll be visiting my OB’s office to get a shot of Lupron, which will throw my body into a temporary menopausal state. We need to do this as a pre-op procedure…stop my menstrual cycle altogether, build up my iron and hemoglobin, shut down the hormones, and start shrinking the fibroids. This shot lasts three months, so after the hysterectomy I’ll need a hormone patch to reverse the effects of the Lupron, and my ovaries will resume normal hormone production after that. I'll go through regular menopause when the time is right. Ah...night sweats and hot flashes…I can’t wait!
My girlfriends have been very supportive, especially those who have had hysterectomies. Sergei is totally behind me (checking out my ass, no doubt), and said if it’d been him, he would have bypassed The Pill idea and gone straight for the surgery. My kids know I’ll be able to spend some more time with them later in the summer (6 weeks off, babies!), and most of the parents and in-laws have been told and have offered to press cold washcloths against my head and watch the kids as I lay in bed, drugged up, trying to watch reruns of The Addams Family. (snap snap)
So that, in my little nutshell of a world is What Mona Has Been Up To. Sorry it couldn’t have contained more nudity or salacious story-telling or long, poetic jaunts. Just the facts.
Oh. But I had this song in my head today. And it makes me think sexual thoughts. And that’s nice.