Item number one: Get a Grip. No, really, it is there because yesterday when filling my blank notebook pages with my running list of responsibilities, it stood out as the most important thing I need to do. I have not been coping well this week.
Now, I think I have every right in the universe to be having a bit of an internal freak out. After all, how many people do you know who go from expecting to miscarriage to needs 3 major surgeries, including a hysterectomy within under two months? It is the stuff of made for TV dramas, not stuff that should be in my life.
And I have been dealing with stuff pretty well. I am very much a person who approaches problems with a business-like, matter-o-fact attitude, and once the problem is solved, then I go freak out privately. Pregnant? Adjust expectations. Miscarriage? Adjust again, be sad for a day or two, deal. Broken girlie bits? Take the suckers out!
I think I’ve done pretty well with all of this, all things considered. I owned enough emotion to deal with the first two items, but this last one just has me absolutely reeling. I think it is the combined effects of too much change too quickly, the finality of it all, and a lot of hormones.
Now, when I saw the doctor on Monday, I had a pretty clear idea of what was going on, and a pretty clear idea of how I intended to fix the problem. I had the facts; I made sensible decisions. Once the doctor confirmed my expectations and then some, and agreed that my choices were reasonable, well, move forward? Right?
Where I am at is that both the anterior and posterior vaginal walls are prolapsing. My uterus is prolapsing slightly. Now the first two? Yeah, that needs dealing with. The third- that can wait. So- I could preserve my fertility. . .but women in my family history have all needed hysterectomies pretty early on, usually around age 40. So- do it all at once, spare myself the pain and expense of another surgery? Delaying the inevitable isn’t my cup of tea, but I can’t seem to get to a 100% feeling great about the choice. I feel good about it. I feel it is absolutely reasonable, logical and sensible. We do know that my chances of having another child are slim. I have trouble getting pregnant, staying pregnant and being pregnant. My pregnancies are so violent and horrible that I can honestly say I never want to do it again. Chris never wants me pregnant again (for good reason) and his vote counts a lot. We have three little walking miracles at our house and that is amazing and blessed and really fortunate. I am also alive and well, so that is also pretty impressive.
So- logically- wow. Get it done, get it over with. Rejoice in white bedding and never needing to walk down the tampon aisle again. Cheer for no cramps and total sexual freedom without worry. Count my blessings, be grateful for what I have and that I can do all of this in a reasonable, non-emergent, healthy setting. Also- no chance of uterine cancer, reduced chances of breast cancer, and no more miscarriages. Move on. Love the rest of my life with the baby factory permanently shut down and focus on me for a change. Use MY God given talents, most of which, frankly, do NOT fall into the realm of mothering. Adjust finances to family of five forever. More money is good, right? Be glad my family fits in most standard vehicles and most typical homes and never have to worry about it changing. No what ifs! There are MANY pros here, people. And if we really need a bigger family, after all is said and done, Chris and I are both very open to adoption. VERY.
So- I’m 95% convinced this is a good thing.
Except it doesn’t explain why I can’t sleep at night and why I spontaneously burst into tears. It doesn’t account for this ache, this hollowness, this blinding void that comes so fast and hits so hard it leaves me breathless, frightened and anxiety ridden. Perhaps this hurt and worry is normal? Perhaps a person should be disconcerted before going into major, life altering surgery- I don’t know; I’ve never done this before.
I wish I could get a clearer confirmation that I’m doing the right thing.
I told my mother I wasn’t sure and she asked if I could hear my grandmother screaming at me from the other side. Then she channeled Grandma Donna, told me I was a dumb shit and that I had a defective uterus that had never worked right and 3 beautiful, intelligent children, and it was time to be done.
Which is exactly what my grandmother would say.
I am a dumb shit sometimes.
Surgery is scheduled for the 29th. Leap day.
Leap of faith day.