I had surgery last Friday.
It was extremely invigorating and exciting. I just love losing a couple of days out of my life don’t you?
Recovery has been going really well and I really only had 3 bad days. Every day I’m able to do more than I was the previous day even if it is the seasonal reconfiguration of my clothes for 30 minutes like it was today. I’m really starting to believe I organize my clothes to clear my head….
So while I was hovering between my z-rack and closet, washer and dryer humming, it dawned on me that I haven’t listened to music for a full week. What a ghastly concept! That never happens in my world.
So I decided that I would turn on Spotify and write about the first two songs that played. Good old Spotify. The titles and lyrics themselves lend a slightly comical, slightly sad connotation and are pretty apropos given my current state of affairs.
Those titles being: Push and That’s When I Reach for my Revolver.
Surgery came as quite the surprise to me.
We have been trying to have children for a number of years and it has been hard. We’ve ebbed and flowed between being gong ho, being scared and life just getting in the way. It’s always felt like a constant push. Either financially or emotionally. There is a certain darkness that hangs in the balance when there is a spot in your heart for something that doesn’t come.
There are emotions that aren’t pretty. Sometimes you look at your partner and wonder if you’re going to make it. I’ve found myself remembering with absolute flashback clarity the minute that I fell in love with Brian and having my heart physically ache for the both of us.
It’s a lonely place to be too. Only recently have I seen people really starting to talk about it. To have a sense of humor about it. To treat it as a real thing with very real, very devastating consequences that are not for the faint of heart.
Think about it.
Close your eyes and imagine if you couldn’t succeed at something that is so inherently human. Every species is driven somewhere deep in the psyche to pro-create and pass on the line.
I’m sure there are plenty of you who would be completely stoked to not be fertile and toy around with “I don’t want kids” but really, think about if you indeed DID NOT have that option. And if not having that option wasn’t your choice. Wrap yourself in the feeling. Try it on like the moth-eaten jacket that it is. Full of holes where hope once was. Pretty dark isn’t it?
Now I do know people who know themselves well enough to know that they don’t want children. I really respect these folks. I’ve seen them time and again get taunted by people for their decision. The strength not only to stand up to people but also the strength it takes to know that you’re either too selfish or not interested or don’t like children must be just as hard to have as the strength to fight infertility. I admire it but I’m just not one of them. Lord help me there have been times where I wished with every fiber of my being I was someone who didn’t want children. But I’m not.
It’s something so many take for granted but we’ve lost years, moments, tempers, emotions, friends and our minds over this. For years I kept silent. Recently I’ve decided why? There’s nothing wrong with us. This year we decided that it is time to really push. To do everything we can so that if by chance it doesn’t work we know that we tried.
And that’s all we can do.
So down to the hospital, que the MRI complete with dye and it turns out that I have some serious fibroids.
Regardless of any childbearing, they needed to be removed. They were pushing everything everywhere and basically filling my lower belly up for no reason other than to be the current bane of my existence and extender of my pant size. All of the sudden I found myself two months deep into estrogen inhibitors to shrink the fucking things that essentially placed me at code red menopause status (which is a blast let me tell you) and staring down the barrel of major surgery.
The last couple of months have been trying in every aspect of my life but they have also been a period of tremendous personal growth for both myself and my relationship. Sitting here belly pulling and tugging, a semi-permanent reminder of a strength that I don’t want but life is bestowing upon me, I would say that I’m pretty happy and that a peace has descended upon my household that hasn’t been here for years.
Maybe since Cleveland.
Brian and I always get along for the most part but there is a peace now. A well-worn welcoming old t-shirt type of peace. We can look at each other again and have a whole conversation without speaking. I don’t feel like we are orbiting each other from our own worlds anymore.
I can only attribute it to the fire that he and I have gone through. We have fought hard for what we have and where we are. We make the decision everyday to stick to the plan come hell or high water. In turn we found out that we truly do love each other. That we are worth the battle. And what a battle it’s been. I could probably write a book about it.
Maybe I will.
I don’t know where the next six months will take us. I do know that I’m taking a hiatus from medicine, doctors and procedures for a few months to give my body a chance to clear out.
Will we have kids?
Am I glad that I don’t have alien masses the size of large grapefruits and tangerines growing in my abdomen?
I was told two things happened when I woke up after the surgery.
First: The nurse told me I was one strong woman and that I fought them good with everything I had.
Second: Brian told me the first thing I said was “I just want my babies.”
I will continue to fight with everything I have for my babies but thankfully I now have balance and I can finally, finally, finally say I’m at peace with this whole situation regardless of what happens.
And I have the 4″ scar to prove it!