Every year, I promise to blog more often, which leaves me one post between another post, missing all that has been happening in my life. I am a mom of three, married to a sailor, owner of a spastic dog. I am also an online student, one that has to read an enormous amount to complete my online courses. I try to fit KDrama (Korean Drama) and running where I can, but I am blessed to be able care for my husband and our kids.
Well, I do promise to be updating a bit more often, as this year is now my eleventh year of parenting.
I am having difficult time admitting that I am now the parent of a ten year-old son. As well as a soon-to-be eight year-old daughter, not to mention that my youngest, my baby, he will be turning six this summer.
Which is an awkward lead-in to my next subject: I am having a more difficult time adjusting to my children growing up, to them getting older, to allowing them more freedoms as they grow, and hopefully learn; I am having more difficulty with with all of this, this rather than something other people are telling me I should be having difficulty with. The "H" word given to me on Friday, by my new gynecologist.
The "H" word.
Hysterectomy.
I've had a many difficulties since the birth of our last child, the last bout I had with my uterus ended up with a few fun words, including: unidentifiable uterine fluid, ovarian cysts, and my favorite: endometriosis.
I went on birth control, and it got better.
But, Houston, there is a problem.
I am my bitchiest on Bitch Master, I mean, birth control.
So, when I finished my last pill pack, I decided not to ask for a new prescription. It did not take long to feel crappy. My family practitioner placed me on a course of antibiotic (because of lab results), and sent me for an ultrasound. At the U/S, my female bits showed their unhappiness exhibiting ovarian cysts. From there I was referred to a gynecologist.
I have to say why I love my new gynecologist's office: I had called around for an appointment to a few OB/GYN's here in Montgomery, but I was told as a "new patient" the soonest appointment available for examination would be around or after Valentine's Day. I then asked, in the mean time, what can I do for the pain? Hot compresses and tylenol.
Can you imagine a non-stop cramp that intensifies with movement? Even just walking, or going to the bathroom? A hot compress. Seriously, I know there is cramping, but really, I've had some doozy birthing stories, my finger has been sewn accidently by a sewing machine, not to mention I used to compete in Alaska native games of strength and endurance. When you've almost had your ear pulled off during an ear pull competition, or had bloody knuckles in the seal hop, my pain threshold is kind of high. I even completed my first marathon in October 2011, and made it through the pain. I am not one to complain about pain, I keep thinking, really, tylenol and hot compresses, because "that is what happens during a woman's cycle."
Moving along, when I called the practice I am with now, they told me the same, around Valentine's Day; but after I asked what I could do for pain managment, rather than the standard answer of "hot compresses and tylenol," they shoved me in the next day for an appointment for diagnosis and treatment.
Also, he listened to me. I had asked for a hysterectomy a winter previous, when this all started, but was told by my previous practice, he would not: "You are young, should your husband die, you re-marry, you need to be able to have more childen." He then continued to say he would not take out a perfectly working organ. Needless to say, I did not agree, and luckily we ended up PCS'ing out of state.
So when my new gynecologist told me a hysterectomy would be best, I did not cry, but I did feel relief. He agreed with my history, my fibroids, my crooked (introverted) uterus, and ovarian cysts, and that fun word: endometriosis, that a hysterectomy would be best. So, I agreed with my new doctor, I agreed that a hysterectomy would be the best bet, and now have it scheduled in February, sooner than a bit later.
The surgery nurse asked why I was laughing when making my appointment, she pointed out tissues were behind me, I could cry if I needed to, she told me it was okay to. I laughed some more, I told her I was happy for a solution to my problems, this lead her to tell me I had a beautiful laugh. I said a thank you but explained, with all that has happened, I want to be a nice mom again, to be able to run without pain.
She then told me my eyes looked sad, I repeated to her I was okay with the hysterectomy, but what I was not okay with was my cousin passing away Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. So I cried for my cousin, for her kids, and for the family she left behind. 44 years old, way to young to be leaving this Earth behind...
But I am not sad that I have to have a hysterectomy. For some moms I shared the information with, they were very sad for me. But those that knew my history, they were happy for me. It leaves me questioning if I should be sad, or is it wrong for me to be happy for this hysterectomy?
I am a bit nervous, never had surgery before, besides removal of wisdom teeth.
So, I will be writing here a bit more often as the date comes closer and passes. Some hysterectomy sites I've read prepping for this surgery, they are sad. This is just my personal blog, I am not sure how I will feel as this occurs, so this will be a diary of sorts as it happens. I tend to think about
The Vagina Monologues, every time I think of the "H" word, I enjoyed the play and novel, so I hope to make my experience in the same spirit, head-on, and to try not to be afraid.
With this plan now in place, I am not planning a marathon for this year to run, not a 10K, not even a 5K at this point of time. I will have to be extra careful for seven days post-op, and then I will have six more weeks beyond that to even find my feet again.
This (hysterectomy) is easier than realizing my children are growing up. My uterus has worked hard enough, I declare, I have three beautiful children. But I still cannot believe that they (my kids) are growing up. I find myself misty-eyed as I realize I have been cutting my son's hair for ten years. Each year that passes, my daughter's hair grows longer. And I really am having problems that my baby isn't a baby anymore. End of this year, he will progress into first-grade, already!
Pffffffft, a hysterectomy has to be easier than parenting, right?
