A few days ago, I was talking to a friend of mine at church. She had seen a funny post about Jake on Facebook and told me that I really should have a blog. After talking to her, I made a “merp” sound and decided that I should start writing again.
Writing takes work and energy and brain cells and at least a few hours of a distraction free life. Since my health has slowly been tanking for the last five years, I haven’t had any of those things in abundance and writing was one of those things that I loved that just slowly fell away from me.
So much has happened since my hysterectomy in May that I will do a series of blogs about what it feels like to come out of the fog of bad health. I’ll limit this entry to filling you in on what’s happened since I gave my uterus the eviction notice.
For the backstory, read this: https://sistertwo.wordpress.com/2015/03/16/surgery-11-or-for-girlz-only/
Surgery 11 happened bright and early in the morning and at that hour, with no food or coffee, I am not a happy woman. I would love to say that the day got lots better, but it didn’t. I had an anesthesiologist who said the polite version of “I’m smarter than you” to me after I gave him the rundown of how I usually react to anesthesia. Which is bad. This operating room was the only one that kind of frightened me since they used the same robot to do the surgery on me that they used to put people into The Matrix. Well, not really, but it was scary. My anesthesiologist knocked me out without talking to me, so I wasn’t prepared to go to sleep, which makes the being under part very weird. Waking up was no picnic. Since he overmedicated me, I wasn’t conscious enough to talk to the part of my brain that deals with pain and tell it to stop freaking out. They put a very heavy ice pack on my stomach and I wasn’t awake enough to realize how much that was hurting me. I left the hospital much later than we thought I would need to since my body wasn’t functioning I truly didn’t feel ready to go, but the alternative was staying there. So, I decided to hold my head up on my wobbly neck, thank the Lord that my arms still weren’t working so I couldn’t strangle the guy who wheeled me out of the hospital, and Greg scooped me up and put me to bed with lots of things to make me happy.
The next day, my dearest friend Ruth came to stay with us. We watched a bunch of movies and she listened to my ramblings and how I was sure I had a theological break through that the entire world needed to hear and helped me get through the countdown and deep breathing until I could take another pain pill. It turns out, when they cut a hole in your stomach and take things out through the hole, it hurts!
I have the pictures of what they saw, took out, and had to leave behind and they were bizarre. I won’t put them here, but I have them, so if you want to see what a really unhealthy uterus looks like, let me know. (That is such a weird sentence to be able to write.)
I forced myself to do all the things I was supposed to do after surgery and my recovery came along a lot faster than I thought it would.
The fog of surgery began to lift at about five weeks and about another two weeks after that, I realized that my body was feeling things it hadn’t felt in years. I have energy again. I am sleeping through the night again. I wake up in the morning and don’t feel like I haven’t slept. My brain is starting to function again. I can think more clearly and solutions to problems that would have thrown me for a loop before are coming easily again.
I was talking to one of my post-op nurses about how bad I felt before my surgery and she said, “Wow! You probably have no idea who you are without all that making you feel so terrible.”
She hit the nail on the head with that statement. I really don’t know exactly who I am without that draggy, tired, hauling around an evil uterus, sort of feeling.
I’m really, really, really excited to find out.
For now, I am glad to be doing less of curling up in bed with the dogs like this:
And doing more stuff like this:
Coming Soon: “My Uterus Was a Hoarder”