*TMI WARNING: The following may contain more personal information than the average reader will want, more humor than the average situation would warrant, and more heretical ponderings than the average Presbyterian will allow.*
The lady said, "I remember you!" (It's been a tough two years.)
I said, "Yes, I was here a lot last year. (You know, before I gave up hope and started living with the symptoms). You were very kind to me."
The lady said, "Well, the good news is, we found something."
I said, "Oh, THANK GOD! That means we can fix it! I have cysts?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "But that isn't your problem."
"Oh."
"You also have fibroids," she said, "And that isn't your problem either."
"Uh.... that can't be good....."
"You need a hysterectomy. And I would recommend that it be very soon."
I. Denial
"Oh buddy," my Person said. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not a big deal," I said. "I'll have to go soon - I have to vacuum."
"What for?"
"I teach lessons in an hour."
"Dude," my Person said. "You are NOT teaching lessons."
"Why not?"
"You're a wreck!"
"Am not. It's not a big deal."
"Cancel the lessons," she said in her very-effective-firm-mother voice.
"Why?"
"Cancel the lessons. You wouldn't let me teach after a shock."
"It's not a big shock."
"Are you listening?"
"Fine." I cancelled the lessons.
And then it hit me.
"Why am I crying?" I sobbed over the phone.
"Because it is a big deal," she said. "It's taking a huge option away from you."
"I thought I had more time!" I cried. "I didn't expect the door to be shut for me. And then the hinges torn off! And now it will just be a weird breezeway that wasn't in the original architectural plans!" (My Person doesn't mind my babbling.)
I went home and did a web search for "I Don't Need A Hysterectomy". And I found several helpful websites claiming organic all-natural therapy healing. And then they would get to my particular diagnosis and say, "In this case, hysterectomy is the only cure." So much for that.
My husband came home and said, "Are we sure you need a hysterectomy?"
And I said, "HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT?! Who cares??? What good am I if I cannot produce a full quiver of sons for you?"
And he said, "Come here and let me hold you. I couldn't care less about that. I'm terrified that you need another surgery."
I should have stayed away from his loving embrace, because as soon as he held me, I started to cry again. "Don't you hate me?" I sniffled. (I am not a pretty cryer. Imagine a large, tomato colored face with a German nose crumpling into blotches and you'll get the idea. He loves me anyway, dear man.)
"Uh... no."
"But I hate me."
"Dearest," my husband said patiently. "You and your uterus are not the same thing."
"Oh." I hiccuped. "So... we can just resent my uterus?"
"Sure. We'll resent it together."
II. Anger
Adenomyosis - Most cases of adenomyosis, which depends on estrogen, are found in women in their 40s and 50s, with a low incidence after menopause. (Mayo Clinic)
I am twenty nine.
My grandfather has always patted me on the shoulder and espoused the glory of my German heritage. "You are a German woman," he says. "Pull plow, have many sons!" I stopped sighing over my enormous hips because at least they were good for birthing. And sure, I can never find jeans, but my unreasonably curvaceous figure is built for nursing, balancing babies, and simultaneously ruling the world. Brunhilde and I are cut from the same cloth.
I confess to being outraged that I will now be forced to spend hours shopping for a dress that fits correctly without the comfort of my old-school fertility.
Don't worry, I completely understand that I am blessed. I already have two gorgeous babies, and it's not like I have cancer, and this happens to lots of women, etc. etc. But I'm not really raging about the health issue so much as its effect on my schedule. I have piano lessons to teach. I have children to raise, VBS to teach, and a house to sell before kindergarten begins in August. My life was already planned to the fullest, and now I must find six weeks to do nothing?!?
Whatever it is I'm supposed to be learning about convalescence, I haven't learned it yet. This will be my fourth surgery in four years, because I have a varied and ironic form of luck. I have finally decided that somewhere in my past, an ancestor of mine offered to carry a gypsy up the mountain and dropped her halfway, whereupon she rolled back down screaming curses all the way.
III. Bargaining
"This won't be so bad," I told my dear husband. "After all, I'm kind of an enormous manatee when I'm pregnant. Who wants to see that again?"
"You are no such thing," he said diplomatically. "But you do seem to be unhappy and unhealthy during pregnancy. Besides, we've always wanted to adopt."
"But don't you want more biological children?" I asked. "I love having babies with your pretty blue eyes."
"I think I'll be fine with the two we have," he said. (In the background, one caused the other to screech in outrage. We ignored them).
"Wait! I've got it!" I said. "My defunct system is no reason that you can't have more children."
"Uh...."
I smiled wickedly at him. "After all, I believe in the biblical model of marriage."
"Where is this going?"
"I'll get a maid servant!" I said proudly. "And she can have sons for me!"
"Uh.... No."
I frowned. "I suppose it would be nearly impossible to find someone named Bilhah in today's world."
IV. Depression
I used to think that depression meant being sad. I am not sad. I am panicked.
How will I get everything done if I'm recovering? Should I try to get it all done first and put off the surgery?
I've boxed up all the baby things and marked them for friends who need the stuff more than my attic does. Why does that make me sad when I know that a newborn means waking up every 90 minutes?
"How will I do it all when I'm so tired?" I asked the ceiling.
I've stared at the ceiling a lot this week. At 3:30 a.m. one night, I found that my sister-in-law was on Skype. She lives in England and was happy to talk. How providential is that?
"I can't sleep," I told her.
"Do you remember," she said, "when you got pregnant with Spiderman? He was completely unexpected. You didn't want children so early in your marriage. But he appeared, despite all the birth control, and you decided to give him another to play with, and now have two beautiful babies."
"He was a shock. I thought I had all the time in the world," I mused.
"I'm not saying you can't grieve," she said sagely. "I'm just reminded how gracious is our God, that he planned your children in His own time."
And what other glories are in the making, I wonder?
V. Acceptance
I am almost there.
I have no trouble with acceptance of the surgery - I'm perfectly ready to start getting well and living without fatigue and anemia.
I am almost able to accept that I will have to ask for help. Gulp. Because I can't do it all. The horror.
(My best friend has answered my calls a dozen times this week. She's let me cry and talk in circles and rage and then she's sent me to take a nap - which is what I needed. And she helps me plan all the things I will do while I'm resting, because she knows me well enough not to assume that I will actually rest.)
My real task will be the acceptance that I cannot control all things. I have hated my varied health problems because I cannot defeat them through sheer will power. My mind is my own, or so I like to think, and I am able to bend it to tasks as I choose. But in this physical body, God has more control than I do in a way that I cannot escape. He keeps my heart beating when I can't even manage to shave more than one leg (look - I've been distracted this week, all right?)
Thus, I am waking each morning now and learning to await the next challenge without dread. For whatever the day brings, whether I feel prepared or not, I can only be certain of one thing - that I will be given grace for it. I won't be able to do all of it myself, and that is the beauty of the mortal veil.
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