crap no. 58
Oh, hey. It’s been a while. Like, eight months. I’ve been away so long that as I’m typing this I’m also trying to re-learn how my site works because there have been upgrades and I’m befuddled.
When we last talked my uterus had tried to assassinate me. I had a blood transfusion and was put on medication that cost about the same as buying a pony. A not-great pony, but a pony nonetheless. All the stress and anemia and adjusting plans and putting stuff on hold and trying to keep my insides inside of me and eating beef and blood tests and appointments made me feel not much like writing. (Still good at sentencing though.) So here we are all these months later and I kinda miss you guys. Let’s catch up!
You’ll be pleased to know that I have crafted two posts for you with a lot of rambling, run-on sentences, and a bunch of information you didn’t ask for. In this post, we will discuss the magic that is my body.
In the next more-fun post I’ll tell you all about all the other stuff that has been going on since we last talked. Spoiler alert: 2.0 is as entertaining as ever. I assume you will all skip this post and move on to the funner post when I publish it later this week. I mean, I would.
My pony medication was basically a 2.5-month summer love affair that allowed me to do a good portion of my outdoor photography season. The Virus was almost non-existent here for a couple of months, so distanced human interaction was allowed. It was awesome and busy and I loved every second of it.
Then my medication was recalled and I was afeard to leave the house for a few months.
I stepped away from teaching. It was supposed to be my last year before transitioning into my new career (prolly dance photography but I read an article about panda nannying and that looks pretty cool too). Teaching seemed impractical given the… instability of my insides. Plus my shituation put me at a higher risk for Covid complications which made being around a lot of humans a bit daunting. Surgery would also require a two-month break because teaching advanced ballet can be quite physical. (I mean, the way other people do it.) So I haven’t been in a dance studio since March when we were shut down in the first wave.
Guess what? I feel better than I have in years! Except for my uterine-area, of course. Like, no more body pain. I’m a new woman!
The second wave of The Virus arrived here in October, and around the same time, I learned I’d be having a total laparoscopic hysterectomy with bilateral salpingectomy. #fancy
In case you’re wondering, I had a bad case of submucosal fibroids. If the word ‘submucosal’ bums you out, you aren’t alone. It’s right up there with ointment and squirt. Fibroids are very rarely cancerous, so I’m grateful for that, and the pathology reports will be back soon to confirm. But the ER doctor described them as ‘real troublemakers’ as far as fibroids go. They are also the rarest kind, so as always I am an overachiever.
By mid-November, I started isolating when I learned that I wouldn’t be allowed in a hospital if I inadvertently visited a potential Covid-exposure site. I left my house for daily walks but was about it. Sometimes 2.0 would take me for a car ride like a dog.
I’m not gunna lie to you: I loved isolating. Didn’t miss society a bit.
Because Nova Scotia is a small place our Health Authority releases a list of potential exposure sites every day. Actions like this have made us one of the safest places in the world right now. The lists are very helpful for contact tracing, but also make 2.0 and I realize just how little we interact with the general public. In the evenings when they release lists, I read the locations off and 2.0 responds to each with: nope. Never been. No. What even is that place? Nope. Never heard of it. Is that a restaurant? IT’S A GYM?! No. No. Nope.
On December 23 I got the call that I’d be having surgery in January. Honestly, it was the best Christmas gift a gal could ever get. I was feeling pretty tired of feeling pretty tired, and the anxiety of the past several months was really getting to me. I even considered watching some reality tv. That’s how bad it was. I was excited and terrified and thought a lot about how I was going to be naked on a surgical table inflated like a whale carcass in front of a bunch of strangers.
FYI, this is what you face when you have to take yourself to a doctor’s office these days:
You really get the distinct impression that you might not be leaving in anything other than a body bag.
And then it was January 11. Surgery day. The whole thing is surreal now. First off, I came through with no complications, so that was great. But I imagined being wheeled into the operating room asleep. Like, I wouldn’t see the room or most of the people who’d be seeing me naked. And they’d stand over my resting body saying things like, “Aw, look at that pocket-sized creature. She is enchanting.” But no. I WALKED into surgery. A nurse led me through a set of swinging doors to the brightest room I’ve ever been in. Brilliant white, sky-high ceilings, equipment everywhere, and a bunch of doctors and nurses bustling around. I climbed up onto the bed (slab?) and one of the anesthesiologists cracked a few jokes. It’s a teaching hospital, so honestly, I think the jokes should have been better, but no program is perfect. My surgeon had two residents by her side. There was a second anesthesiologist starting a new job at the hospital. And there was a nurse standing beside me who talked to me until I fell asleep. I’m most grateful for her kindness because I wanted to curl my body into a tight ball.
And then it was over. You just wake up and everything is done. No one says a word about how they heaved your legs into a set of stirrups or how they got the hospital-issued underpants off you.
I stayed overnight in the hospital. Showed ’em just how good I am at fainting. Slept a little, and was in total awe of the nurses caring for me. They are saints, people. When someone helps you get on and off a toilet when you can barely stand? That’s some holy being level shit. When that same person prepares a hot facecloth to wash the day off your face? You could weep.
The first couple of days at home were a little rough but very manageable. I stopped my pain medications before the week was done. I’ve been going for two walks a day since day three post-op. I’m up and about all day save for an hour of rest in the afternoon. And though there’s still a lot of healing for my innards to do, I’m feeling stronger every day.
It’s generally 6-8 weeks before you’re cleared for 100% normalcy, and I went into the surgery a little weak, but I’m well on the way. 2.0 has been an incredible nurse. And by incredible I mean strict.
He’s been filling my body with fruit and veggies, making me drink lots of water, helping me in and out of bed, and doing all the chores around the house. He checks my incisions, yells if he thinks I’m doing too much, and helps me put on socks when my swelly belly gets in the way.
On the weekend 2.0 hit the grocery store for more healing foods and brought home two special treats to be consumed in “small portions” at his discretion “when needed.”
When I asked why he put them on the floor he said, “Because you can’t reach anything down low.”
I know a lot of you are wondering what happened to Ginger 2020. It might even be why you’ve pushed through this endless update. You were probably thinking: she’d better be here to tell us she lost the use of her goddamned arms. And I didn’t want to pile on to the misery some of you experienced in 2020, but…
I wasn’t feeling up to it. That’s it in a nutshell. IT’S ACTUALLY A LOT OF WORK YOU GUYS. Like, three weeks straight in front of a computer emailing, organizing, formatting, and writing. Three weeks of people emailing to say: I CAN’T FIND MY ENTRY ON YOUR BLOG! Three weeks of me emailing back to say: that’s because the competition hasn’t started yet. Honestly, I was worried that I might Marlena Evans a few people.
I know that Ginger is something that some of you look forward to every year. Yes, this says something about you, and yes, that something isn’t great, but I get it. I have no doubt that 2021 is going to be a better year, and that Ginger will make a triumphant return. So if you’re trying to avoid humans and keep busy in isolation, you might wanna get a jump on things.
That’s it, pals. The story of my body. Happy New Year! I think we’re gunna be a-okay.
So happy to see this post pop up in my feed! Here’s to getting strong and well like, ASAP.
I mean, I’ve got a lot of crap to unload!
Great post-glad you are doing better!
Sheeee’s Baaaaaack !!
(and crappier than ever 😉)
I have so much crap to unload!
Thanks, Jan!
Glad to hear you’re doing better!! My mom was one of those nurses that talked to you until you fall asleep in the OR, so it was extra special to me that you noticed your nurse. It’s too bad we didn’t do Ginger 2020 because with all of the social isolation, I’m sure the entries would have been EPIC!
I know! But maybe the pandemic would have made shopping for candy more difficult? Basically I was doing my part to keep North America safe.
I missed this. You always entertain me!!!
I’m here to serve, Joan!
Oh so glad you are doing better and feel up to your hilarious commentary on life events! Having been thru a similar procedure I can tell you that you will feel 100 times better soon. Wonderful you have 2.0 watching out for you with junk snacks ( limited) along with healthy food. The BEST!
I will gladly wait until next year for GINGER and hope we will all be in a gooood place then. Please write a book in addition to your other new career moves. you have talent for taking mundane life experiences and finding the humor in them.
I’m certainly happy to be back writing again, so I can see absolutely no reason not to whip off a quick book or two! I mean, how hard can it be? xox
She’s baaaaack, and I am so stinking happy to hear from you. I literally drooled over every word and I even read some of them twice. Three times. Okay four.
I love you Movi.
Welcome back xoxoox
I love you Lynne! I promise more words are coming soon! xox
Well, this post just started 2021 off beautifully for me!
Keep moving around and getting stronger, and please tell 2.0 that his RN recruitment letter is on the way. It might take a while coming from the States though… ya know, what with COVID and all.
Big hugs!!!
Hugs right back! Please tell the other nurses that 2.0 won’t deal with toilet stuff. Not unless FORCED or walking accidentally into a… situation.
It is so good to “read” you again!!! Sending you a (gentle) slap on the ass. That’s what men do, right??
Yes! I believe that’s what annoys us must about men?
Glad to see you back cuz, and still an imp!
Getting more impish by the day!
Hooray! So glad they removed those nasty fibroids and left your sense of humor!!!
Apparently the hospital received requests to remove the latter, but I refused to sign the consent forms.
So glad that you are on the mend. Another gal was going to have a on-line gingerbread contest and like you we didn’t hear anything for quite some time only to learn that her father had a heart attack on Christmas day. Both of you are to be commended on what you do for not only the gingerbread contests but how you plow through your challenges in life.
May you be blessed with a complete recovery and a wonderful new year!!!
Thanks, Cyndy! I ran Ginger when I lost a student to depression a few Decembers back, and ran it when we lost my mother-in-law, and it actually helped a lot. Laughing at people’s submissions and hilarious emails really lifted my spirits. This December felt different somehow, and I figured stepping away might actually help more. BUT Ginger 2021 has already got me excited! I trust you’ll be sending me something in 11 months! Happy New Year!
I have missed your writing SO MUCH! I didn’t even realise how much until I read this and my heart soared. You are a frigging genius. I am so glad you are feeling better and that your internal organs are not longer plotting a coup, that shizz is just not ok. You can now frolick forth, with lots of extra space in your tum tum for deep-fried cheezy treats – that’s how medicine works right? I am sending long distanced, fully vaccinated, lysol soaked hugs your way and will be keeping you in my happy thoughts all winter long. Stay safe and keep being amazing i.e. You. xxxx
P.S. I don’t want to be a Debbie downer buuuuut, bragging about your super mucousy fibroids is like a little declasse, I mean yes I am jealous and yes we all want them but, let’s just keep it on the DL ‘k?
P.P.S. I feel that you should be using your convalescence time to train a cat to carry a bag of, say, Dorito’s to your outstretched hand. Just a thought….
P.P.P.S. Grammarly was like all up in my grill about this post and I’m like “Back off Grammarly! I’m from ENGLAND, we INVENTED this shizz!”.
Grammarly REALLY hates my writing. I’ve tried telling it that my style is “casual,” but it doesn’t seem okay with it. I will certainly try to curb my discussions of mucousy fibroids as we move forward, but honestly I can’t guarantee it. Mostly because it makes people super uncomfortable. Sending you lots of hugs and thanking you for the motivation to train Dorey to bring me snacks in bed… xox
So glad you are doing well! I remember the swelly belly – looked great with my shuffle walk! My B was a great nurse too – Nurse Ratched was his given name I think!
Congrats on being an overachiever! Seeing as these things run in my family – my mom had one – I had over 30 (they actually stopped counting and just put “over 30” in the pathology report!), plus endometriosis PLUS – and not that I can blame it with all that going on – but the darn thing had started to just curl up and die right inside me. Getting rid of the rebellious thing was the best thing that has ever happened to me. When I finally make it to Nova Scotia – I’ll bring you a beer and we can toast to good riddance to bad rubbish! Hugs!
I’m so looking forward to my pathology report – I want lots of gory details to work into conversations. Maybe we can compare notes over drinkies by the ocean! xox
Laughing about the Path report! When I was still OUT in recovery after my second and finally successful fibroid removal, the Doc was laughingly telling the boyfriend that one of the fibroids looked like the Death Star ( I guess a Star Wars thing!) in the images.
The boyfriend looked at him and said ” you had better not tell Sarah that”.
YIKES!
How are we supposed to brag about our uteruses if we don’t have the brag-able details?! One of the residents told me that they could see the fibroids pushing out of my uterus when they took it out, and even in my drugged state I was able to say: yessssssssssssssss. 😂 Which made him giggle…
So glad you got through. Shame on them for making you walk in. I was in last week and I was wheeled, even for day surgery. When I got to the lounge chair for my tea and sandwich, I got off the wheely bed and slid right to the floor. My feets they didn’t want to work. I laughed but I was the only one who thought it was funny.
Get well.
I also did a big slide when trying to get out of bed for the first time. I felt a little like a baby animal trying out its legs for the first time! Maybe my hospital has patients walk into the OR to make them feel like badasses? I’m going to suggest they play music for the entrances from now on… I hope you feel better soon, Maureen! Sending you lots of love. xox
Here it is February 2023. How are you doing now? I had a laparoscopic hysterectomy many years ago, and it took me more than a year to get fully back to normal.