Ode to a uterus

I'm going to use my recent surgery as an excuse to blog about reproductive humor, to force you to endure the cathartic process of writing about this event, and to just basically talk about girl parts and lady stuff because let's face it, this is the last time I'll have any "reason" to do it.

Almost 2 weeks ago, I closed a big chapter, the Baby Years. Honestly, I would've never chosen to do it, especially at my incredibly young, fertile age {36 is the new 25} and considering that all things baby have consumed my thoughts, dreams and life for years and years. But my uterus was growing weird things and being mean to me, so it was time. I was done. I sort of came to grips with the hysterectomy thing, kinda, but wound up losing an ovary and it's side-kick fallopian tube along with it. As fate would have it, it wasn't the bratty ovary that is a major pain and causes me more grief than a nut-sized organ dare give. Nope, it was the well behaved, nice ovary. Gotta love irony. But you know, I'm determined to be grateful for that because if I'm down to one tiny factory of girl power, it might as well carry on a bit now and then and remind me that it's there, alive and kicking. Since I'll have enough hormones on board I still get to enjoy PMS {Prepare to Meet Satan} but I will NOT be bleeding 3/4 of my life away, and that is a major change I'm looking forward to. After 26 years I'm thrilled to say goodbye to periods. Especially the 3 week long ones I was having. I won't even need an extra carry-on to tote all of my bionic tampons and pads when we go on vacation. Now I can use the feminine product pouch in my purse for more snacks! See, always a silver lining.

 And even though my doc said my hormones should bounce back, this recent selfie shows that I've undergone more of a transformation than I expected. 

Now on to that fateful day. My Grand Opening Sale, {almost} everything must go!...

The night before my surgery I came downstairs from putting the boys to sleep and saw that Ella had made me a banner that said: "Good luck on your surgery! Don't be scared, be brave (like me!) You're loved!" Cutest thing ever. My sister was set to watch the kids the next morning, but since I had to leave for the hospital at 5 a.m., she decided to come over that night and just crash on the couch. We watched The Bachelor and snacked, then off to bed so I could pretend to sleep. By this point I was so ready to just get it over with and stop thinking and worrying about it. My surgery was originally scheduled for weeks before, but some insurance issues pushed it out. Great, more time to let all the things I learned about in nursing school freak me out. 

But it finally came, no more time to daydream of crash carts and babies without a Mommy, and death and carnage. We made it to the hospital and everything went smoothly and, miracle of miracles, things were actually moving ahead of schedule. My IV was a little tough to start which is unusual for me, and I felt woozy like a big sissy as she dug around in my arm. Next step was to meet the anesthesiologist and I felt the need to tell him about every pain I've had in my heart, and every cough I've ever had in my life, and then go on to pretend I wasn't nervous. The City Harmonic and Kari Jobe on my iPod helped me mellow out. I kept my composure until my doctor came in and I didn't feel like I had to be tough anymore, so I cried. I'm so thankful to have such an amazing physician. I think I would've ran out of the place in a hospital gown, dragging my IV pole down Division Street if for some reason he couldn't perform my surgery. His compassion is equal only to his competence, and he excels at both. I always know I'm in great hands. He delivered all my boys and I knew he was the man to do the job of excising some of my lady parts. I trust him completely. So off I rolled into surgery...I woke up and the sweet recovery room nurse informed me that I'd had an allergic reaction to the tape they used on my eyelids and tummy, and said I was bright red and swollen and the skin had actually peeled off around my eyes. Awesome. Immediately I'm aware that I'm in pain, which kinda scared me a bit to be honest. The anesthesiologist said I shouldn't feel any pain when I woke up, so I remember feeling a little panicked. I figured I was in for it if I was hurting already. I thought I was pretty tough but apparently not. I was wheeled up to my room and almost added "bladder" to the list of organs I'd lost for the day when my catheter was almost yanked out of my body when the transport dude forgot to unhook the bag after I slid onto the new bed. Luckily I was awake enough to yell "wait, WAIT, WAIT! as he rolled away, and then I finally grabbed the tube myself before it was too late. Todd found my room and minutes later my friend Erin came to visit. Poor girl, I probably scarred her for life, all mint green, looking like death on a stick. I puked {one of 5 times} about 10 seconds after she walked out the door, so at least she missed that! A half hour later I forced Todd to go home and be with the Rufflings and relieve Steph since surgery had taken longer than we anticipated. I knew I'd rest and recover better if he were home with them taking care of things. Next to Mommy, Daddy is best. Later on, Todd brought the kids to see me and they looked horrified at my appearance. Great feeling. I guess they don't usually see me all hooked up to stuff with an oxygen tube up my nose, the color of the Grinch. I got hugs and pats and kisses and "how's your ooterus?" and "why does the hopsital smell funny?" and in no time, the only thing they cared about was watching my pee drip into the bag. Charlie went over to the trash and started looking inside. I asked what he was doing and he said "did Dr. Fine throw your ooterus in here cuz I wanna see it."

 They left and I tried to nap. Tried is the operative word. I'm telling you thee worst place to try and rest and sleep is the flippin' hospital! My sweet sis came that evening as well as my friend Kelli, chocolate shake in hand, one of many sweet gestures. Chatting with them was so comforting and took my mind off how icky I felt. Stephy spent the whole night with me, squished on a crunchy little cot. What a life saver. She handed me the barf bucket, got me food {because let's be real, hospital food sucks}, she asked the nurses for things when I felt bad doing it. She handed me stuff I couldn't reach, laughed with me, let me cry, comforted me when I thought that surely I was dying because I couldn't breathe, and she looked out for me like only a big sister can. I wound up staying two nights and she did too, best sister ever. I've never really been in the hospital, only one night when I had the twins, and that's so different, it's fun having babies! You're not sick, it's not a medical "condition", it's natural and beautiful and everyone is celebrating and snapping pics and cuddling. I didn't feel like a patient then. This time there was nothing to celebrate, and I didn't realize how much I would want need somebody with me. It was a comfort to have someone that knows and loves me so well by my side. The first couple of days post-surgery I felt like I had all the baby related symptoms of all my pregnancies rolled into one ball of awfulness. The abdominal discomfort, distention, and trouble breathing I had with Hyperstimulation Syndrome, the nausea and vomiting of pregnancy, and the pain of labor at 7 cm. Good times. Whether I was trying to pass out in the bathroom or craving pizza, my sister had it covered. Poor thing had to endure, right along with me, all the machines buzzing, the 3 a.m. lab person busting in to draw my blood, my oxygen sats and blood pressure were low so the monitor would beep every 2 minutes it felt like. The dumb air compression devices on my legs were obnoxious, huffing and puffing constantly ~ inflating and deflating, inflating and deflating. My bed inflating and deflating. My blood pressure cuff inflating and deflating. The heating pad compressor going on and off, on and off. ALL NIGHT LONG. You'd think for 15 grand a night the accommodations would be more comfortable;) We did make some fun memories ~ watching Food Network, browsing Pinterest, and teasing nurses and aides {I vaguely remember telling someone I was basically a transvestite because my throat was so raspy I sounded like a man, and I barely had any woman organs left. Bad humor just rolls off the tongue when pain meds are on board}. I had to watch the roses my sis got me like a hawk since the hospital staff kept offering to take them off my hands. Someone came to clear my plate of toast and teased "can I take anything else off your tray,
like those flowers?" ;)

 

After 2 nights I was ready to bust out of the hospital, and when I was ready, I was ready. My nurse laughed at me because when she came in I already had my shoes on and my IV hadn't even been removed. I got a wheelchair ride out to Steph's car, and immediately got my hand slapped by the nurse for grabbing my purse and Steph's, which was apparently too heavy. This lady clearly hadn't met my family if she was worried about that, I was heading home to the Mines of Moria. Those purses were the least of my worries. We made it home, I shuffled to the shower and immediately to bed. Followed by Charlie who got his jammies on and curled up next to me, and came down with a 102 temp and a hacking cough a few hours later. Oh joy...Then another one bit the dust, and another. Never have all of my kids been sick at one time, ever. Until now. Great timing. And just what I needed to come down with when my guts are all sore and stitched up, a hacking cough. It's funny how not feeling well reminds you how awesome it is to feel normal, and how we take little things for granted, like peeing without having to think about it. The theme song to Frozen went through my head more than once as I tried to go potty. Just "let it go" Laura, let it go...

My poor sick boys in bed with me.

Eating Kel's mini chocolate cream pie and whipped cream, in bed. Surgery may be worth this.

Being a busy homeschooling Mom of 4, I'd teased that I was sorta looking forward to the nap I was going to be forced to take under anesthesia, and staying at the hospital away from my duties at home. So Steph got me this balloon "it's your day!" and another one of our inside jokes "she gone" was apropos.

The first couple of days back home were about 3/4 of the misery I felt at the hospital, and by Saturday, I only needed one pain pill and was out of bed like a human. Glorious. Todd was only home for 2 days after I came back from the hospital before he had to go out of town, so my sweet Mama drove up to help me. Even though she was sick with a cold, she was such a huge help and I couldn't have gotten through the week without her. Dinner, cleaning, laundry, keeping the twins occupied while we did homeschool, groceries, a shoulder to cry on ~ she picked up all of my slack and was my saving grace.

 Life doesn't slow down just because you need it to, so things are back to normal for the most part. This past week has been annoyingly slow recovery wise, I don't feel any better than I did a week ago. Even though I feel so good compared to those first few days, I'm not making big strides and I'm impatient. The silliest things make me ache, and things pull and catch and hurt. Apparently your knee bone's connected to your uterus bone, and your hiccup bone's connected to your ovary bone. Now that my body has healed up quite a bit and I'm not distracted by pain, I am feeling more of the emotional repercussions. I was slowly plodding up the stairs, sliding my hand along the wall to keep me steady, and my hand bumped into one of the photos lining the hallway and as I stopped to straighten it, I saw the photo of a chubby, smiley Dawson staring back at me and just started crying. It happens like that, completely unannounced, just a sweet moment with the kids, a memory, a picture, a baby spoon in the drawer. And it hits me ~ I can't go back, I will never carry a baby again, and my body won't ever be the same. And even though the best thing that has ever happened to me is motherhood, not pregnancy, man does it still make my heart ache. The happy tears that fall when you find out you're pregnant, feeling those first flutters that quickly turn to swift soccer kicks to the cervix, a tiny bump that in no time becomes a blossoming belly that you s-t-r-e-t-c-h a tight shirt over because you love to show it off. Ultrasounds and prenatal yoga and making sure you sleep on your left side. Then finally baby's birthday comes. With all the nervous jitters and excitement, wondering if it's time. And when it is and your body performs this miracle called birth, and you finally make your first introductions with this person you've grown inside you, and you're handed a wet and tiny human that you already love so much you can't imagine. Then you put that precious babe to your breast to nurse, and before you know it, that little freshy is now 6 months old and chubby off your milk, and smiles at you and plays with your hair while he nurses. That is....magic. I got to have all of that, and I am so grateful. So, so grateful. Through my tears I have whispered a thousand thank you's. And even though I feel like I'm under a dark cloud sometimes, gratefulness pierces through like a ray of sunshine, eventually evaporating my heartache and filling me with thankfulness.

And speaking of thankfulness...I can't say thank you to my friends and family enough for their love and support. I was showered with amazing meals, treats, countless gifts, flowers, cards, calls, texts, visits, prayers, emails, balloons...I am so blessed. My friend Kel even brought me Tuck's pads knowing I'd been on Zofran. Now that's a true friend;) Apparently the word is out that I like sweets because I got pies, cookies, ice cream and candies. I was getting flower deliveries, meals and cards from people I didn't even tell about my surgery, but heard through the grapevine. 

I am one lucky girl.

I'll leave you with a few pictures of what the kids were up to while Ninny was here and Mom was a lump on the couch for half the day.

They spent hours that week playing store. Ella had a candy shop, Dawson was the general store, Charlie was on drinks, and Mitchy had an art studio. Our job was to raid the Disneyland jar of change and pay them for sparkling water, tea, snacks, candy, and hand drawn pictures. So cute and creative.

I'll close my incredibly long saga with these horrifying pictures. Ella asked me to download some free app on my phone and used the "alien" setting to take pictures of all of us.
I laughed so hard I probably popped a stitch.