Continued Healing
The long road to recovery.
On October 16th I went into surgery to rid myself of what was taking a toll on my uterus. I found out that I had 3 large fibroids which were contributing to my declined health. I was given the option to have surgery or to use herbs to decrease the size of said fibroids knowing they would eventually need to be taken out due to them having their own blood supply (8cm at this time of diagnosis). I opted to take them out which means a full hysterectomy. If you do not know what that means or what that entails I am happy to disclose the procedure to you.
I full hysterectomy is where they go into the abdomen with scopes(little robots with cameras that can precisely cut away and extract the anomaly) to see if the tissue effected can be extracted safely through the vagina…you heard me right, THROUGH THE VAGINA, or to be extracted from the lower or distal torso and proximal to the pubis (Basically a cesarean) if the pathology has taken a turn for which this is necessary. Are you okay? Do you need a minute? I did. They way they explain women’s bodies and the way they delivered the message to me went a bit like, “We would have to go into the stomach (4 small incisions) to cut away the effected tissue and pull it out of the vagina. This would mean the fallopian tubes, the cervix and the entire uterus leaving the ovaries intact to not blow out your hormones. Does this make sense”? My mind went into way too many places to put it all together that they were talking about a hysterectomy. I calmy asked them to go through that one more time to make sure I heard what I had heard and how dismissive and passive their delivery held immense weight.. Now! Before I continue with this memory lane I must tell you to know that I have never wanted children, not once. I do not have a biological clock because it wasn’t installed. I grew up with a metric-assload of brothers and sisters of whom had their own offspring in and around me to where I was instant babysitter and proud Auntie. Missing my uterus wasn’t a thing. The reaction to my non-reaction spoke volumes and deafen the silence that shook the room. I guess, normally, women would be distraught or beside themselves for wanting to have and now can’t or or having their decision and choice taken from them, I had zero feeling about those things because of the aforementioned. I had to say “Hysterectomy” out loud to make it real. In my head. I thought so many things, all at once, loud with judgement, soft and repeated pricking my skin, softening my jaw, racing my heat and settling my ass into the hospital table with the ceremonial gown of shame cascading over my knees warming nothing but more thoughts.
That week I found out I had 8 cm fibroids, 3 to be exact, in my uterus, I have calcification in my left breast, It’s more than likely I am hypoglycemic. What did your 2024 get you? After learning about my ever growing pathologies, I believed I went out for food and drowned myself in a pool of what if’s feeling sorrow for myself and trying to logic the shit our of my situation so that I don’t implode. People who live in their head, back me up! While I am trying to wrap my head around the fact that surgery is in my near future, I will be recovering for 6-8 weeks. Who in the fuck has money to do that?! My mind raced all day trying to cypher what this will mean for my near future. “Do I have the funds to make this happen? Will I have a job or be able to go back to my job after this? How is Zeus’s asshole will make this happen”? As the universe will have it, I began to dream of what was possible (by the way, that too is stressful and a lot of work for your brain to compartmentalize). “Should I start my own business? Should I get my teachings license and start teaching massage? Can I go back to teaching yoga and making a living out of that and be happy? Should I start my apothecary anyway without money and just trusting I will be supported”? Normal intrusive thoughts growing at an expediential rate crowding my already babbling Brook of a head. Somehow, this felt different, heavier and clarifying.
I had, at this time, 8 weeks to get right with whomever Goddess I pray to for health and safety and, in the same breathe, I knew it was going to be alright I just didn’t know if my mind would be alright. I have been working since I was 13 years old and have had my own apartment at 15. Work is what I do. I love that a part of my day is seeing people’s faces and bodies looking and feeling better than when they started their relaxation day. I get to talk them through some super hard shit on my table whether it be emotional, physical or energetic, I get to be a part of someone’s healing and that brought me joy however, my body is an old lady body who has lived a few lives and needs slowness to be her sidekick while admiring the fruits of her labor. Could this be possible while I’m healing? This hurts to say this, “At my age,” that felt like razors tap dancing on my my vocal vibrations creating sin upon my tongue, do I really want to work hard? No. Do I want to do the things that I love and happen to get paid handsomely? Yes. What does that look like? Where is that? More and more things to think about besides,” I’m going to have parts of me taken out”, which may or may not come with its own special revisions. I welcomed the jumbled intrusive thoughts to occupy my mental space, for a time.
Since April I have seen several doctors within the span of 5 months than I have ever in life. Getting old comes with privileges and deficits and sometimes simultaneously. Before my birthday this year, as you well know, I was hospitalized. Ever since April, life has had its own agenda and didn’t ask me if I I wanted to go or if I had something to do or checked in to see if I might have my very own goals to be entertained, it simply rearranged my world and thanked me for the good times. I will say that I got to know my body a bit deeper. I have a fuller knowledge on the dysfunction of the body and how to redirect the energy towards health. I got to be nerdy with my doc’s by asking nerdy questions. That took a load off from my mind. To my earlier comment on having goals; I wanted to save some capitol to purchase a home of my own. Come to find out before my hospital stay that I wasn’t going to make this goal within the time frame I gave myself, even then it might not happen. The pricing for homes these days are unrealistic. The amount I would have to raise is anxiety educing. I felt as though I had been living a lifestyle that didn’t suit my adult dreams and desires. I wanted to have a home to decorate seasonally, grow food myself. Have friends over for the holidays. I’d like to come home after traveling to my own thoughts, smells, energetic fields, my private space. Settle for something ridiculously over priced because I just want security now, gave desperation. apartments . . . I wanted to find the right place, for the right price and that felt like it would take a little bit more time.
When it came time for the surgery, wouldn’t you know it, I wasn’t ready. I made all the payments. I went to the store and stocked up on simple foods I can cook or have cooked while I’m recovering. I gathered a gang of peeps to help me out with certain remedial tasks. I. Forgot. To steady my mind before, during and after the surgery because I was happily distracted with the aforementioned.
SURGERY DAY!
I got up, early. I commenced in the rituals of morning time. I arrived at the hospital, too early. At this particular hospital, during specific hours of the day, they closed down an entrance due to heightened crime and debauchery. At the hour agreed upon, both doors are fully functional and are staffed with security. Before you get all preachy . . .this hospital is saving my bacon. What they do to protect their assets, I’m about! Moving on! I went through security. Spoke with a lovely nurse who gathered my effects for safe keeping. Tried to distract myself from the inevitable. Used my phone for distractions forgetting I would not have a way to charge my phone while I’m under anesthesia. I thought I’d find distractions everywhere but clearly, as my Mom and many teachers have pointed out when I was a tike, “I am the distraction”. The waiting room felt like death and looked like where you would give someone/s bad news about their health or loved one. Odd. I was happy when the nurse came to collect me for my drug induced coma. I was sent to another waiting room with lots of other waiters who were in their gowns and getting hooked up to their heart monitors and other gadgets. It was my turn to get into my ceremonial garb and wait for the vampires. (Vampires are the phlebotomists) I use the restroom, donate some pee, got weighed (Dear Gawd!) and settled into selling my cheeks to the public as I passed them by the hall on the way to my secluded area. Thanked you the vampires, they left quickly. Astonished how good they were placing a line in my arm when many others could not. My anesthesiologist came in with shadow ( a person who is learning the floor) to explain what will and can happen during this process. I signed some papers before they gave me the good stuff and off we went to the OR.
I would love nothing more than to give you play by play on what happened or what I saw but, I can’t. I don’t remember when my eyes closed nor the dreams I had during. I will say that it was a damn good rest because when I began to wake . . .I forgot where I was. It was only when the pain struck through my body like a bat out of hell with gasoline drawls on, that I remembered where I was. That type of serious pain of which I never want to experience again. Everything hurt at once. My vagina was on spewing lightening and felt, as though, it was being ripped out of my body. My stomach felt like it was being stretched in several different directions and to it’s capacity. The blood everywhere in my body seem to be lava. It sole my breath. Gave me spasms. I collapsed and crippled my body onto the table. I felt helpless. Weak. I was surprised how quickly the pain disappeared once I made my discomfort known. The warmth that overcame me was a welcomed bedfellow. I found myself wanting to go back to sleep. The beeps and tweets of the monitors collective sounds kept my attention for a while. A nurse came into the room I occupied to see how things were going and if I needed anything. I couldn’t get my mouth to work but my head shook no with an agreed understanding of each other. She made claims she would return when I looked more awake. I’m more than positive I went back to sleep after that. When the nurses and my surgeon came back into the room with exciting news to tell me, I had one headlight on and looking to my left. My surgeon said that my organs look great. No anomalies to speak of, quite healthy however, my uterus was a war zone with the 3 fibroids that grew to 10.5 cm and a litter of smaller fibroids that made up the rest of my uterus. The larger of the three fibroids was twisted, cutting off its blood supply, which caused me to go to the hospital from the amazing pain. Knowing is half the battle. And yes, they pulled it out of vagina so…the pain I was feeling . . .yeah. I got pictures of the fibroids because they weren’t too keen on given me video of the surgery, lame. I can’t describe what that looked like . . .pearls in a clam? Nothing will really do it justice, honestly.
1.5 weeks after surgery, I’m writing to all of you. I hurt in places I didn’t know was possible. I sleep . . .let’s not lie, what’s sleep?! However!! Everyday I feel a bit more like myself and the pain, although shifting, has subsided. Currently eating an elephant one bite at a time trying to find ground and comfort with my new adventures of recovery. Lessons, as they do , will arrive much later as I stew in the present moment. Just so we are clear, this is not the hardest thing I have ever done. This is a patience exercise I have not had time to do. No more excuses. 6-8 weeks to recover and figure out adulting. Shouldn’t be that hard, right?
