Memoirs of My Uterus...

Well, the time has come.  It is the eve of my hysterectomy.  I am feeling a bit anxious, but I know it will be for the best when I am all healed and well again.  I do not believe I will mourn the loss of this empty sack of menstral pain, but if I am to say good-bye forever to this body part that has been with me 46 years, I think it is only appropriate I pay it one last discussion.  One last bitch session.  One last remembrance of the horrible times we had together.

As I recall, I was in the fourth grade, a mere 10 years old, when my uterus introduced itself to my life.  It wasn't friendly.  It didn't just knock on the door and welcome me to womanhood with cookies and biscuits, it grabbed me like a tiger at the circus sucking a little girl into a cage and then mauling it for hours on end.  I was so young, no one had told me about this thing that happens.  There I was, playing four-square on the playground when a girl that I detested asked me why I had red all over the crotch of my pants.  I didn't know why it was there either.  I said, "I have a red sweatshirt that wrapped around my jeans and stained it in the wash."  I was a freaking genius.  The girl with ugly hair and braces just said, "oh." and seemed to move on.  When I got home that afternoon from school, my Dad was home.  I told him my stomach hurt really bad and that I thought I was bleeding to death and I didn't know why.  He told me to go lay down on my bed until Mom got home.  I remember laying there in the dark believing I was dying and the cramps were so bad. Finally, Mom came home, took me into the bathroom and explained what was happening.  What in the bloody hell?  This was going to happen EVERY MONTH? 

And so, throughout my grade school, middle school and high school life I never seemed to know when my uterus would seek its revenge on my body.  The number of times I had wardrobe issues is beyond comprehension.  I was surrounded by girls that wore training bras and wore Garfield underwear in 6th grade gym class and there I am going into the "period shower stall" with my over-active uterus.

Fast forward, and I know you wish I would, to my adulthood.  It's been hell.  Sheer HELL.  I don't want to get graphic, but there is stuff that no woman wants to see in her panties, and I've seen it.  Is that a clot or a bunny that I just passed?  The world will never know.  At any rate, after the fibroids and all the pain and suffering, tomorrow it is OVER you mother-trucking barren over-reacting gut-wrenching sack of cramps and shedding lining. Fuck you.  There, I said it.  As Church Lady said today, after tomorrow, there is no more U-to-us uterus, it's over bitch. 

Ode to my Uterus
by Cassondra White

You are a uterine sack of pain and shredding lining
You took my innocence and left me bitchy and whining.

You have ruined my panties, my pants and a dress or two.
You've taken me by surprise and left me shoving toilet paper up my vagina in the loo.

You've made me spend what must be thousands of dollars on feminine hygiene supplies
You've made me lose my shit, throw a temper tantrum and crave french fries.

You've caused me PMS to the point of taking everyone down with me
It's called Shark Week for a reason, I'll eat anything I can see.

I had to use a app on my cell phone that tracks my cycle all year.
I need it to show those around me and to instill fear.

I'm tired of being this tired, bloated, bloody, cramping and a clotting disaster
It's time for me to take control and become the master.

So get out of my body, take the fallopian tubes and cervix with you, please.
Don't let the door hit you in the ass, as you leave.

Fuck you, you uterine terrorist
Sincerely, the body where you will not be missed.


So, with all that said, I am a little bit nervous about the uterus exit strategy.  They are allegedly doing the surgery "robotic."  This means that my doctor sits at a computer and tells the robot hands what to do in there.  Maybe I'm just paranoid because of where I work and all the computer problems we have, but what if good 'ol Hal the Robot goes ape-shit in there and starts cutting shit up like he's the Swedish Chef on The Muppets?  What if all the sudden it starts chopping up the other organs?  Liver pate anyone?  You didn't need that pancreas, right?  Spleen? GONE.  Holy shit! 

OR, what if I am under the anesthesia and I wake up in the middle of the surgery and I'm awake and can feel stuff, but I can't open my eyes or communicate with the doctors that I can feel everything?  Then what?  The Rug Doctor says that is not likely to happen and she is sure, even if it did, there would be other parts of my body reacting in a way that would let them know.  I shared this concern with Blonde Wonder Twin and she said she woke up in the middle of one of her surgeries.  SEE!!! It can happen.  Of course her eyes opened and they noticed and put her down further, but still.  It is possible.

And, let's talk about what is going to happen in the after math.  There's going to be packing up there, there is going to be nothing holding the vagina in.  All that stuff just gone and the vagina is like a hammock in the back yard slumping between two trees.  I just know I'm going to have to poke it back up in there all the time.  I won't ever get camel-toe in the front of my jeans, it will just look like I'm harboring Jabba the Hut in my crotch.  Look, I have concerns.

Anyway, I have Shark Bait to take care of me and he does a good job of that.  Although, he is prone to video me when I am loopy, so really can't promise I will come out of this with any sort of integrity at all.

My work peeps were so sweet to me today with their well-wishes and gifts to keep me busy after the fact and the good-bye uterus cupcakes.  I heart my peeps.  I was even hugged quite a bit today. It's almost like they don't even believe I'll be back.  But, to their point, it's way better to hug a live person than a dead person.  And honestly, if I'm dead, get off me.  That's gross.


Gifts from my peeps...