(no subject)

[felicula]

Some of you know that I've had menorrhagia issues for many years. Even before I had my son, I had debilitating cramps and an unpredictable menstrual cycle. After, I never had even a single normal period again. I don't remember how many kinds of pill I went through. I had a year on depo-provera. I've had at least half a year of Nuva Ring. From the first time I bled like I stuck pig, I knew that I wanted to be rid of my uterus, stat.

I've known for about six years that one child is plenty for me. I love Aidan dearly, but I realize that I feel no need for more progeny. I've been telling the folks who poke at my girly-bits this for years now.

In November, I had a chat with my gynecologist about options. She suggested IUDs or endometrial ablation as less invasive alternatives. I took her at her word. I read all the materials. I listened carefully. Then, I put myself in the position of the what-ifs. It's all well and good if things work as they're supposed to. But what if they do not? I have an overenthusiastic uterus. It likes to jump up and down and cheer any time I make much exertion. Even reading about the procedures made it cramp up in a sympathetic cringe. Even if the IUD or the ablation stopped me from bleeding like a stuck pig, there was no guarantee that my uterus would be tamed by these procedures. Hell, every time I orgasm, it cramps. Just as I hit the pinnacle of pleasure, I'm plunged into paroxysms of pain. Believe me, I'm not that much of a masochist. (Not that it stops me from trying to see if it might be different "this time.")

It sounds like my decision was made for me.

Well, there's something about contemplating abdominal surgery. My intestines set out of the way, my bladder too. An incision that bares my skin, the too-thick layer of belly fat, my recently strengthened abdominal muscles. Blood everywhere. My uterus sliced from its place and labeled medical waste to be incinerated. Stitches, staples, bandages, IVs, an opiate haze through which pain still flares. Ten more minutes left before I can have more meds. Time in the hospital when they tell everyone I love to go home, where I have to struggle for the half-sleep interrupted by nurses and roommates. Take my vitals again, and again. Weeks, months even, of recovery once I get home. A permanent scar. Even now, it makes me a little weak to think about it.

But I stood and faced the entirety of that image. I looked it straight in the eye and said, "Yes. I will survive this. This is what I choose."

Yesterday, I talked to my doctor to tell her my decision. I want it in the summer, when I have support of my parents and my in-laws to help care for Aidan when I am too fragile to. She is having a baby and will not be back until the middle of July. In early April, I get to make the appointments official. The wheels are in motion.

In some ways, I am relieved. Exultant, even. Once I recover, there will be no more red flood, ever. No more trying kinds of hormones just to find out that after a few months of them they no longer make a difference. I'll still have my own ovaries, but there will be no need to try to bludgeon them into submission. I will have no need for birth control or menstrual hygiene products.

Yet, I would be lying through my teeth more ruthlessly than George W. Bush if I didn't tell you I am terrified too.

I am bucking nature. I am carving out a living, throbbing part of me. I am rejecting the very center from which my son sprang. I will hover between mother and crone, with characteristics of both yet not wholly belonging to either.

The surgery itself is not without risks. There is no doubt that I am still obese. I will still be that, even if I lose a full 2 pounds a week until it is time to go in for the surgery. I will be lucky to see the scale say 200 pounds by then. Granted, the healthier I can become before then, the fewer the risks. At 272, I would certainly have been much worse off, even than I am now at 247.5. Of course, there is a risk any time someone goes under general anaesthesia, just as any abdominal surgery is serious business.

I firmly believe that the end result will be worth it.

Comments

[thedoorsgirl.livejournal.com]

It sounds like you've really thought everything through. That's the best anyone can do. It definitely sounds like you've been through quite an ordeal with all of this and I can understand your relief on one hand and your fear on the other hand. I would feel the same way. You're in my thoughts. I'm sorry you've been through all of that to begin with. That's quite a bit for one person to have to try to deal with.

[blackfelicula.livejournal.com]

Thank you for your kind words and for keeping me in your thoughts. Sadly, there are many, many women who struggle with this or worse and do not achieve true relief until they are in their 50s or 60s. They go through many more procedures. I am thankful that I can cut to the chase and get it out now, before I turn 31. Granted, it will not be for several months now. Thanks again!