Entering the Crone phase

So, I'm pretty tired three days after my surgery. Maybe even a little hung over from the morphine pump. I will have a hard time staying focused on my subject and the spelling might suck, but if I have to watch Britney Spears gawddamn jazz hands in her "Criminal" video one more time, I might go nuts. Too late, I know.
     For those of you who aren't on facebook, I was diagnosed with uterine fibroids a few months ago. Many women have asked me how I knew I had them. Well, you could see my fibroid every morning sticking out of my lower belly, like the fair sex version of a pee hard-on. In fact, when I finally had it removed on Monday (along with my uterus), my OB GYN told me it was about the size of a cantaloupe. I won't post a pic of uterine fibroids here 'cos I did that on facebook and I think I lost alot of friends that day. Suffice to say, they are ugly and disturbing. Not to mention, they mess up your mestrual cycle, your hormones and (occasionally) cause some back pain.
     So, what was my million dollar question for the surgeon when he told me it would have to come out - "How is that going to affect my sex life?" Quite honestly, I could feel this... growth... for a while now and I knew it was sitting just over the somewhat elusive, and too often overlooked, G-spot. Without going into too much detail, this added pressure made for very.... accessible... climax. Not that Rod ever needed a map to find it before, but the fibroid was definitely acting like a Staples "Easy" button in my opinion.
     Dr. O'Brien dismissed my concerns with excessive confidence in his surgical abilities. I like excessive confidence in surgeons. Plus, he told me we would only do a "subtotal" hysterectomy, in which I keep all my potential sexy parts (ovaries, cervix and the like). He said it was "very European". I left his office feeling very en vogue. If that's not proof that I'm a sucker, I don't know what is.
    My only condition was to have the procedure done under spinal anaesthetic rather than general, and O'Brien said that was fine with him. Keep that in mind... it was "fine with him". His secretary was a bit of a bitch about it for some reason, but my surgery was booked for December 12th.

     Now, as part of my "goddess-based" religion, the three phases of a woman's life (Maiden, Mother and Crone) are very important milestones to be celebrated. However, I was unsure how to feel about this life change. It's very depressing to know I don't NEED a uterus anymore. And, it's a reminder of my age to start taking out things that don't work or are basically excess parts. Not that I WANT more children, but there's a big difference between WANTING them and being ABLE to make them. Am I broken now that I don't have a uterus? Incomplete?
     On the other hand, NO MORE PERIODS!!! YAY!
     Anyway, the days flew by, as they tend to do, and December 12th came. I didn't sleep the night before and I was a nervous wreck that morning. I am not nervous about being cut open, not nervous about pain, not nervous about hospitals. I just don't like being out of control. The inevitability of it sent me into panic attacks. If you don't have control issues, I can't describe it to you. It's ridiculous... like being afraid of whales (which I am). My rational, conscious personality knows this, but she doesn't make the rules. It's the disconnected, subconscious, chocoholic bitch that calls the shots here.
     Speaking of hospitals, what the fuck? Are they run by Bell Canada, too? They ought to start telling you to be available between the hours of midnight and 5 p.m. because if you have an appointment for 8:15 a.m., you are likely to expect to start getting shit done at 8:15 a.m. However, that's very stupid of you because, clearly, an appointment is just a recommendation... a suggested time of arrival, if you will. At 9 a.m. they told me I would be getting in at 10:20 a.m. At 11:30 a.m., they told me I would get in at 1:40 p.m. At 2 p.m., they started saying, "It won't be long now."
     I don't know what time I actually lay outside the operating room getting questioned and re-questioned by the staff. It's very disconcerting to be waiting for surgery when everyone keeps coming over to ask what your name is, what you're having done, etc. I mean, I just kind of showed up when you told me to; shouldn't you KNOW who I am and what I am having done while I'm here?
     First, it's the nurse, "What's your name? What are you having done today?" I told her and I made sure to add that it was being done under spinal anaesthetic and she confirmed.
     Then, the Doctor, "How are you doing? Are you ready?"< rifles through patient info > "We're doing the subtotal hysterectomy today." It's like he's just double checking, so I make sure that he knows it's being done under spinal anaesthetic. "Oh yeah, that's fine with me," he says.
     Next, the anaesthetist comes over. "So.... Sheila. I am  your anaesthetist and I'm going to make sure you're comfortable today."
     "Yes, you're giving me a spinal anaesthetic," I say.
     "Ummm, I don't think that's a good idea," he says.
     .... LOST.... ALL .... CONTROL....
    I tried to walk out. Not easy when you're attached to intravenous in a bed with guard rails. I argued. I cried. I pleaded. This was non-negotiable from my perspective. In the end, I won. On condition that if things got bad, he could knock me out. I said, "How will you know?" And he said, "Oh, I'LL KNOW."
     By the time I got into the O.R., I was hyperventilating and couldn't feel my fingers, so I had to have a sedative. I was so out of it, he could have put me out without any fight. All I remember was the topic of conversation in the room - it had something to do with really good coffee at some place called "L'Auberge-something-or-other". I'd love to know if that really happened or if I was hallucinating.
 That's really random even for a hallucination, don't you think?

     The next two minutes of consiousness were among the worst in my life and I have a VERY high pain tolerance. Like Bil Heffernan says, I'm a "tough ass county girl." Lol. But, they started shoving in the catheter, then the cutting happened... and then the shoving and tugging and pulling! It felt like they cut a hole in my stomach and proceeded to vigorously shove a vacuum hose up into my lungs! That was what I was envisioning anyway, because that was what it felt like. I think I screamed "OW, OW, OW!" and that was it, my anaesthetist saved the day.

     I don't remember a whole lot afer waking up. Rod stayed with me most of the night as I was in and out of consciousness. The nurses came in every hour or so for vitals. By 7 a.m. the next morning, about 15 hours after my surgery, they took out my catheter and I was walking to the bathroom by myself. Yeah, bitches! Tough ass county girl, right herr!

     I was sooooo hot in that hospital; could not wait to get out into the fresh (and unseasonaby warm) December air. I was beginning to worry they had taken out my ovaries, too, causing me hot flashes. Turns out, they just like to keep the hospital at about 98 Celsius. So, when I got home and crawled into Rodney's bed with my head face down and my ass in the air, I started to cry. I mean, I was blubbering like a baby. I was so happy to get into my 66 Celsius house, it was like I could finaly relax after about 3 months of worrying and panic. And, that is how I marked my metamorphosis from Mother to Crone.... I cried and gave thanks for cool flannel sheets.


I couldn't resist.... so gross!