With Toes Tightly Curled

Last week I had the pleasure of enduring an endometrial biopsy. If you aren't familiar with that term, I'll simply tell you that it involves a speculum, a cervical dilation, sharp tools to cut off chunks of your living flesh and a complete lack of propriety and modesty. If you aren't familiar with any of those then consider yourself fortunate.

It actually wasn't as painful as I feared. Still, I was not able to relax. My feet were like arthritic claws propped up in the stirrups. I'll bet that doctor and nurse see a lot of curled toes.

Next week holds more fun with the removal of my uterus and its multiple tumors. Then the following six weeks are going to be spent recuperating from the whole ordeal. Yeah, my summer's pretty much shot. (Any suggestions on how to spend time lying in bed, toked up on pain-killers while your severed abdomen knits itself back together?)

Lots of hysterectomies aren't too big of a deal because they're performed laproscopically which involves a few little incisions in the abdomen. Unfortunately, this isn't an option for me due to the size of my fibroids. See?

 the artist's interpretation of her uterus 

Though the tumors are being represented by an orange, two pluots and a lemon in the above photo, their dimensions are similar to the real beasts as proven by the ultrasound I had.

You know how when an extremely overweight person needs to go to the hospital but they can't fit through their front door so a wall has to be busted out and heavy duty ramparts need to be constructed over which to convey said morbidly obese patient?

Well, just call my womb "Large Marge" and my doctor the wrecking crew.

Yeah, I'm basically having a c-section but without the cute little bundle of joy at the end. (Doc did say he'd take photos of his findings for me, though, since I asked.)

After the doctor described in detail what the surgery and recovery would be like, I asked if he really thought this was all necessary. I mean, yes, I'm having symptoms, but I'm not miserable and this solution is quite a big deal. He reminded me that the final decision was mine to make, but his educated opinion is that the fibroids will just continue to grow and cause more and worse problems.

*sigh*

So, let's look on the bright side, shall we? I have access to excellent medical care. That's something for which to be extremely grateful. Yep, my summer may be shot, but my autumn (and the next couple of decades, hopefully) will likely be free of sciatica, pressure on my bladder and a whole host of other unpleasantries.

Oh, let's not forget no more menstrual cycles! Yes! This Independence Day I declare myself independent from that annoyingly loyal ball and chain!

Happy Fourth of July, everyone.

The (Most Recent) Fruit of my Womb

My uterus has done some great things in its time.

After all, it played an indispensable role in the production of these two beauties:

(one of my all-time favorite pics of my kids)

Well, perhaps because it's dissatisfied with its negligible existence as of late, my womb has taken up a new hobby.

It's called: growing fibroids.

Apparently it has quite a knack for this new pastime as it has produced four of them, the largest of which is the size of this 8 cm orange:

That's huge!

To say I'm bursting with pride over my uterus's talent would be a grossly inaccurate statement. I am, however, bursting with something as I'm starting to look a wee bit pregnant.

I think I'll take a sharpie to one of these shirts...

 

 ...cross out "BABY" and write in "QUINTUPLET FIBROIDS", just to clarify.

I won't give details about my symptoms (although I probably lost the guy-readers at the second word of this post already), but let's just say I'm glad that something can be done to halt them.

What is that something, you may wonder...

A hysterectomy, most likely.

It's my understanding that if fibroids are removed, wily and determined uteri like mine have a tendency to start cultivating a new crop, sometimes even more bountiful than the first. 

No thanks.

That's alright. I'm done with my uterus. I'm pushing 40, which doesn't feel that old, but in baby-producing terms it's practically ancient. My womb is a relic, really.There's probably an inch-thick layer of dust enveloping the detested-in-utero-masses at this very moment.

So I'm wondering if my doc will let me take it home. My growth-filled uterus, that is. Maybe I could dry it out, fully intact and then hang it up in a tree as a pinata to festively celebrate my looming 40th birthday. Swing, batter!

Okay, sorry. That was possibly the most disgusting thing I've ever included in this blog o' mine which dates back to 2008, but at least I didn't post any photos of actual fibroids. The internet is rife with them (if you know where to look), and let me tell you: they are FOUL.

FOUL!

Therefore, I would like mine out, please, along with the dastardly womb that has nurtured and grown them for who knows how long within its dark, inner sanctum. 

Geez, an organ gets bored and this is what happens? I mean, I know it's been out of the spotlight since it evicted Delaney 15 years ago, but seriously, couldn't it do something more beneficial than sprout massive blobs of useless and cumbersome tissue?

Sneaky, unprincipled womb! What's next on your "Secret Garden" list? Cannabis???

Anyway, I've got a doctor's appointment tomorrow so hopefully I'll get some answers to all of my fibroidal queries...