Three Weeks In

Three weeks ago today I was still in the hospital for my hysterectomy, in Recovery. I am halfway through my leave, and trucking along towards healing.

The first two weeks were filled with family visits -- first my dad, then my mother in law, and while it was lovely and we received a LOT of very appreciated help, it has been lovely also to have the week where the day is mine and I can accept visitors if I'm feeling up to it or I can spend the whole day alone on the couch if not.

I have been spending a lot of time on the couch.

Which is good, because I learned real quick that if I overdid it, my body would tell me LOUDLY that that was unacceptable and pretty much render me a weeping puddle of void-pain. So I have been listening more and embracing my couch potato status.

Saturday in particular was a tied-to-the-couch day -- Bryce made sure I had any tea, water, breakfast, coffee, lunch, what have you delivered to me on the couch and I lay there in pajamas under a throw blanket with a book all damn day. I felt pretty fantastic after that.

Speaking of books, my list is now:

Week One
- Truth & Beauty by Ann Patchett
- You'll Grow Out of It by Jessi Klein
- Do Not Become Alarmed by Maile Meloy
- The Last Mrs. Parrish by Liv Constantine

Week Two
- Tess of the Road by Rachel Hartman
- The Country Diary of An Edwardian Lady by Edith Holden
- The Power by Naomi Alderman

Week Three 
- Sorry to Disrupt the Peace by Patti Yumi Cottrell
- Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig
- Maeve in American: Essays by a Girl from Somewhere Else by Maeve Higgins
- A Charm of Goldfinches and Other Wild Gatherings: Quirky Collective Nouns of the Animal Kingdom by Matt Sewell
- Man-eaters Vol 1 by Chelsea Cain +

I am not watching a lot of TV, clearly. My favorites so far are Truth & Beauty, Do Not Become Alarmed, Tess of the Road, The Power, and Maeve in America. 

The weirdest is probably Man-eaters, a highly entertaining serial graphic novel about a mutation called Taxoplasmosis X that turns adolescent girls into vicious man-eating panthers upon their first period. it's very creative, funny, kind of scary (from a socio-political aspect, not the panthers), and went well with The Power and Tess of the Road, which were very different but also in the feminist literature vein. Tess of the Road was one of Bryce's Christmas book picks for me, and it was so good. Tess is such a great character, and I loved the commentary on cultural norms for women, expectations, sexual freedom, and how some organized religion can serve to oppress groups. (Note: there is baby loss.)

The one I enjoyed the least is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I read that one because it's been on the shelf forever and Bryce has his copy from the 1980s and it's been on all these lists of must-read books, and I caved. I didn't hate it, I didn't love it...I felt like it was work. It was super stream-of-consciousness, with multiple narratives happening at once, and had me feeling a lot of "wow, this is a window into 1970s cultural norms and some of this makes me uncomfortable" -- like attitudes towards women and minorities in particular. But it was fascinating and I'm not sad I read it, I just had to treat it more of a project than an enjoyment.

The most beautiful, literally, are The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady and A Charm of Goldfinches. The Country Diary has been on my shelf forever, I bought it used because I remembered looking at my mom's copy growing up and it's pretty, but I never really read it. I got a puzzle (that I am STILL working on, it is neverending and a prime example of why I don't typically do 1000 piece puzzles, and I'm pretty sure I'm missing a couple pieces) that was Spring from the book, and it inspired me to look at it again, and to actually read it. I was like, "HOLY CROW, this is the original Pinterest-y bullet journal!" It inspired me to start mine back up again. And I got a coloring book based on the same illustrations for Easter.  A Charm of Goldfinches is an adorable book of collective nouns for creatures of land, air, and sea, illustrated with Matt Sewell's quirky watercolors and full of interesting origins for the terms. I now know that bluejays are in the the corvidae family, same as crows and ravens, and that a group of seals is called a harem. I picked it up because I adored another book he wrote, Owls: Our Most Charming Bird, and I wasn't sorry.

Maeve in America was a top favorite. I love reading essays, and I was so hopeful that You'll Grow Out of It would be super enjoyable and it was until that horrible final essay on infertility, so I was a little nervous going into this one. I shouldn't have been. Maeve is funny, insightful, and never made
me want to throw her book. In fact, she made me want to go get a drink with her. It made me laugh out loud ("Swimming Against Dolphins" is a particular favorite) and it was heartwrenching and politically apropos ("Wildflowers" specifically). Her writing is a thing of beauty. She might be my new pretend best friend, and she is definitely going to The Dinner Party (an imaginary get together where Bryce and I pick famous people we think would make a good guest list).

All in all, I am really enjoying this concentrated reading time and the opportunity to plow through my books-to-read shelf(ves) and perhaps some new books I couldn't resist snagging.

An older picture of Abner in the old house... RIP sweet old boy

I will leave you with close up photos of my cat, Lucky. I don't think I mentioned here that we lost our old boy, Abner, the week before my surgery. It was very sad and such a difficult decision, and poor Lucky is out of sorts without his buddy, even though he was sort of a glorified furry pillow in the end. I guess it's been good that I've been home so much all the time to keep Lucky company, as he does seem lonely and in need of extra snuggles. Every day I'm feeling better, and (surprise surprise) the more I relegate myself to pajamas and couch, the better I feel. It's crazy to think that I am halfway through my time before going back to school -- I am feeling way better than 3 weeks ago, but I can't imagine making it through a whole school day yet. I guess that's why I have 3 more weeks to go!

My buddy

#Microblog Mondays: Gardening Season

Things have greened up, almost magically, here in Western New York.

Our backyard, a week ago in the evening

Actually, the magnolia tree is studded with magenta buds and it's a LITTLE greener even today:

Our backyard, this morning, opposite light, actually not looking greener in this picture but I swear it is

Magnolia tree, slightly doctored for more saturated color so you can see the pink buds better as I can't get off the deck to get a closer, more obvious picture

That magnolia tree says it all.

I CAN'T GET OFF THE DECK.

I would love, love, love to be walking around, working in the garden, investigating my new surroundings. Actually, it should be working in the "garden" because there really IS NO garden, not yet. I am pretty much starting from scratch.

This is both an exciting opportunity and a source of loss -- I went to a garden center (don't worry, I moved very, very slowly and sat on every bench, and then hurt afterwards and stuck myself to the couch) with my mother in law last week on her last day, and the majority of my thoughts were:

"I used to have that." 

Such a sad realization that my gardens at our "old" house were a labor of love that didn't crop up overnight, that were a result of careful tending and trial and error and developing beds over a good decade. And while I can create all new gardens here, and it's a bit of a blank canvas and a great opportunity for my grandiose plans to eventually have a mini botanical gardens instead of grass anywhere, right now I'm missing my flower babies that I used to have. 

We were driving by the area where our house was, and Bryce said, "you want to drive by and see your gardens?" and I was quick to say, "HELL NO." I knew it would either a) make me sad because all my pretty spring flowers would be blooming there with strangers, or b) make me sad because it was all overgrown and neglected. (I'm pretty sure it's option A, as a neighbor let me know they took my list of plants that I left and didn't laugh and throw it out but rather started researching the plants to take care of them, which made me all warm and fuzzy inside, but I also don't want to find out that it was all too much and is neglected despite good intentions.)

So I guess this is a lesson in patience. Wait and see what comes up here, make plans knowing it won't materialize from my fantasy into reality in one season, and enjoy the surprises that crop up in unexpected places while I wait to be physically able to get down in the dirt. 

Pretty Hellebores in a way-too-structured-for-me front garden area

From above, sad structured mini terraced garden that needs to be filled to the brim with plants and have that ghastly weed-preventing, soul-crushing garden fabric removed from under the hideous red cedar mulch. I may have opinions on this, my apologies if you love that sort of thing...I need to cottage it up, stat. 

Wild surprise daffodils in the black raspberry thorns, I'd love to see this whole hill covered in them

Surprise front yard daffodil, by the road, in with the weeds

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy! 

Why I Can't "Get Over It"

Mali at No Kidding in NZ wrote a post that resonated with me: "I'll Never Say Never". Read the post, but the quick and dirty is that while the phrase "get over it" is often used to silence people who are experiencing pain and grief, it is also used as a badge of sorts when talking to people about your pain, as in "I'll never get over it," and that can be extraordinarily unhelpful for a new person to childfree not by choice (CNBC) living to hear.

It reminded me just how much I hate the phrase "get over it."

Here are things you can get over:
- a speed bump
- a hill you are hiking
- a cold
- a disappointment, such as not getting a job, getting fired, not getting an accolade, having a project not work out the way you'd hoped, laying thick hints for a birthday present you'd like and then not having it appear in pretty wrapping, etc.

A speed bump is a temporary tiny hill, that you slow down for, jog your shocks for a moment, and then continue on your way.

A hill you're climbing is a longer process, usually a challenge you've sought out. It is sweaty business, but when you've climbed over it you have that sense of accomplishment and endorphin rush, and sore muscles that last a few days.

A cold sucks while it is invading your face, throat, or chest, and you can feel like you are Patient Zero of the new pandemic and you will surely die, but then it does eventually go away and your voice goes back to normal, your lungs go back to normal, your nose and throat and sinuses all go back to normal. The only reminder of your cold is a third of a bottle of NyQuil under the sink and a trash can full of tissues.

Disappointments are difficult, but solvable -- if I don't get the job I wanted, I look for another one. If I get fired (which I have, and it is no fun), I have a chance to remake myself, to find a new job, to reflect on what happened, to learn from it, to figure out how to survive. If you were hoping for an accolade and you do not get it, it hurts and can impact your sense of worth, but you try again or go for something different. If a project goes sour, like planting a new garden and most plants don't come back the next year, you figure out what went wrong, you feel sad about the plants that didn't make it, you make a new plan. If you've hinted and flagged catalog pages in the bathroom and thought that you were transparent and possibly telepathic but those puffin slippers do not arrive for the holidays, you can order them your damn self and call it a recuperation present.

"Getting over it" is possible when it is something that is temporary, that does not have lasting impact, that makes you upset or frustrated or disappointed but doesn't sink roots deep in your psyche. You can get over a cold, but pneumonia could have lasting impacts on your body that ripple out well into your future. You can get over getting fired, but if you repeatedly lose a job or have difficulty with steady employment, that crosses over a threshold into more than just disappointment.

In my mind, "Getting over it" is for disappointments. It is not for loss. Disappointments make you sad but don't last. Loss results in grief, and changes your life. It cannot be "gotten over," because that is too simplistic for something that has infiltrated the very fiber of your existence.

I agree with Mali -- hearing "I'll never get over it" or "you never get over it" as a person new to a particular loss (loss of parenthood, loss of health, loss of a loved one, loss of marriage, loss of lasting employment, loss of independence, etc.) is not helpful. When you are facing a life different than the one you had imagined for yourself, when the inevitabilities you thought were promised don't happen or are wrenched away from you, you want to know that there is hope for that different life.

This is why the phrases I prefer are "getting through it" or "moving forward."

Facing the end of our journey to become parents and the devastating death of a dream two years ago was a loss that at first felt beyond comprehension. It didn't just hurt, it felt like the world was ending. Almost exactly two years ago we were having difficult conversations following my physical and emotional crisis, and I didn't know how I could ever feel whole again. There was no getting over it. There was just lying facedown on the floor and wondering why everything had gone so wrong and why we no longer had it in us to continue down the punishing path to parenthood that seemed just a twisty, dark  road through a swamp, full of wrong turns and sinkholes.

It was so important to think about not just the end of what we'd so wanted, but how to move forward -- how to rearrange our life and look at this as a new beginning as much as a tragic ending. The trauma part was real, though. It was not a disappointment. It was a huge loss: of a person we'd hoped to meet but who never got to exist, of a life that was vastly different than the one we were facing, of a generational legacy that wouldn't exist -- no children, no grandchildren, a family tree with no branches after us. It is woven into who I am now. I cannot get past it, I cannot climb over that and be the same as I was before.

I can, however, get through it -- I can slog through the swamp and be left with scars that fade over time. I will not stay in the swamp. The swamp is temporary. The swamp has the deep pits that you can fall into and feel dangerously like you'll never resurface again, but you will. It is possible. Those roots that scratched and tore your skin on the way down will help you climb back out.

Getting through the pain is necessary to moving forward, to reclaiming a life that is different that what you'd hoped for and what seemed to be just "next steps" for everyone else. You can absolutely get to a point where you love the benefits of the life you have, now that the swamp is an unpleasant memory.

Or maybe, to get away from the swamp metaphor, which makes everything seem terrible and stinky and squelchy under the feet, it's more like the t-shirt you wear to a color run. (Something I have never done, because you'd have to run, and it became a thing after my brief running period in high school and college.)

You go into the race with a white t-shirt, and as you run it, you are colored with those powders along the way. You have a record of each milestone, each curve in the road, because of the colors on your shirt. And when you finish, your shirt is not at all the same as what you started with -- it is a riot of color, not all of it beautiful. But it is transformed, and it is a record that THIS HAPPENED. You can wear your shirt and enjoy the beautiful and the clashing parts and know that it is a record of something you went through. Your skin is no longer pink and purple and green, I assume that washes off eventually, but your shirt continues to tell the story.

"Getting over it" and "getting past it" deny you the right to wear your shirt proudly, to remember the hills and tough second mile and the cramp in your side, but also that you went through the finish line and you made it. That shirt, those scars, are part of who you are. So I think sometimes when people say "I'll never get over it," they are thinking of the scars that linger or dye that will never come out of the shirt. Perhaps to follow that up with "but I did get through it" or "I am moving forward" would help with giving hope to the newly dazed and skin-stained.

That you can build a beautiful life, even if it doesn't match societal norms or what you'd dreamed of until the dream was gone. That you can move forward from something devastating that seemed like the pain might end you, and while you still can get floored by a painful moment and the sadness can creep up on you, the joy and gratitude and LIVING of a fulfilling life far outweighs that. The balance shifts over time.

It is amazing to me that I am only two years out from the most difficult days of my life, and I can look at my life and be so very grateful. Because I am moving forward. I did get through the toughest parts. I am wearing my color-spattered shirt with pride, and I feel honored to join the people who helped me through the finish line in being here to cheer for those who arrive, exhausted and rainbow-stained, at the other side of the race, give them a hug, and let them know that on this side, life is beautiful.

#Microblog Mondays: Too Much Information?

I am almost at the two week mark from the hysterectomy, and I am trying (and failing) to adequately "take it easy," despite spending all day every day in pajamas, never leaving the house except to sit on a deck if it's not pouring, reading, obsessing over flower catalogs, doing puzzles, etc. etc. Still, if I haven't been prone most of the day, my incisions hurt and I feel crappy. I sort of feel like if I laid any lower I'd be dead, but maybe this is just how recovery goes.

Last week I looked at my online chart from the hospital system because it said I had a new report/test result. I have lived practically my whole life without having access to my own reports, and I'm not sure that this new window into my health is actually "healthy" for me.

It was my pathology report, for my uterus and tube, now excised and summarily filleted and sliced up for examination.

I read it, and then had to look up a whole bunch of things, and then when I did look them up, I felt...sad. And confused. The two things that made me feel this way were leiomyomata uteri with degenerative changes and adenomyosis.

So, leiomyomata uteri are just uterine fibroids, and I couldn't get a good read on what "degenerative changes" are other than some things I saw that said it's just the benign tumor that is a fibroid mimicking cancerous cell changes. Which may or may not be accurate, because there was no explanation or link to anything and so I had to rely on Dr. Google to help me. Okay, so I had fibroids. It's not like I was using my uterus functionally anyway and it's super common in women my age, and now they're gone along with the organ that hosted them, so that was that.

The adenomyosis was the one that was troubling. I was told my uterus was 2-3 times the normal size when removed, and apparently that is right in line with this diagnosis. Which is, thank you Dr. Google, when your endometrium grows into the muscle layer of your uterus instead of out from, and it thickens the uterine walls and causes painful, heavy periods. Huh. When I wasn't pumped full of artificial hormone treatments, my periods were painful, and heavy. It mentioned a bloated, full feeling in the low belly as a symptom. Check. And then it said the thing that made me feel awfully stabby:

"Frequently a cause of infertility and embryo implantation failure." 

Huh. If I could sum up our painful and lengthy IVF experience, it would be "implantation failure." The two times I did have implantation, one was in my tube and the other ended in early miscarriage. The other 25 embryos that went into my uterus didn't stay. They couldn't tell me why. I didn't get any kind of label for what was making my womb so damn inhospitable. 

It (sort of) made me feel better that it said it's more common than not and is treated either by medical menopause (the devil lupron), removal of the lining, or hysterectomy, largely due to pain and quality of life, and then the adenomyosis is typically diagnosed when the organ is put through a pathology exam. 

So, my feelings were complicated. Maybe, just maybe, this was the reason that we'd been searching for -- the WHY for our repeated failure. But then also, if this was the WHY, well then it was pretty damn clear that my uterus had been the biggest culprit all along and we were never going to be successful. Or at least, that maybe if this was known information we could have made different decisions sooner, not that that would have necessarily changed the outcome (and it's moot anyway, seeing as even a time-turner can only safely take you back 5 hours). I lay in a funk on the couch digesting all this information. 

Which is the question -- should I have access to all of this information without any ability to have it explained by a living, breathing doctor? Should I be left to interpret the results myself, causing a fair amount of mental anguish, when maybe it isn't as much of a smoking gun as I thought? Is this TOO MUCH information, too easily read and too muddily understood? I have my follow-up to my post-op follow-up in May, and I have a LOT of questions. 

I thought it would be nice to be able to review my own medical records as they are added to, but I think it's left me with more questions than answers -- questions that are stirring up old muck that was decently settled but seems to be just as capable of hurting me, four years later. 

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Ones that are likely shorter than this one, which is NOT micro at all, sorry...? Go here and enjoy!

Week One of Hysterectomy Recovery

Hey friends! At this point, one week ago I was either in the OR or Recovery, and my uterus was likely already gone.

I am feeling pretty good about it all -- Bryce was worried I'd be sad, but I'm really not. I feel... exorcised. Freed. I have mourned what my uterus could not do for years, and this is more a celebration of the end of its reign of terror over my body and mind. Buh-bye, unnecessary lady bits.

I am more mobile every day -- even ventured out of the house today to have lunch with my sister and her husband, Bryce, and my dad. It was nice to see all the spring that's sprung since I've last been out, but I am tired and sore now.

My dad flew out from California -- his job makes it very, very difficult to schedule visits for a variety of reasons, but there was a little window of kismet that allowed for his first visit to Rochester since 2004 or so. My sister came down to spend some time with him as well. I have seen my dad more recently than 15 years ago, it's just rare that he can come out to this part of NY, and so it is a special treat.

Me being creepy, sneaking around

My mom also spent significant time the first two days, which helped Bryce go grocery shopping (he is fast realizing how annoying and neverending that particular chore is). I am so appreciative of all the visits.

A friend and her daughter even did a home delivery of our favorite Mexican restaurant takeout. And Bryce's mom is coming in from Maine tomorrow after my dad goes back to L.A.

There's been a lot of movie watching, and flower catalog perusing, and eating of takeout and Bryce Cuisine, naps, and reading. I am in my fifth book of the week:
1) Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett
2) Someday You'll Grow Out of This by Jessi Klein
3) Do Not Be Alarmed by Maile Meloy
4) The Last Mrs Parrish by Liv Constantine
5) Tess of the Road by Rachel Hartman (in progress)

All very different. 2) pissed me off because it was super funny and relatable, but then the last chapter, the last essay, was this...

I almost threw it. But that would have hurt my incisions.

I also did some puzzles, which is a good pastime but required bending more than was comfortable so I've taken a rest on that for now.

I have pain, but it is better day by day and I can now wait to take the heavy duty pain meds until evening. Soon I won't need them at all. I am easily exhausted. I took a shower and blew out my hair the other day, to make life easier in the long run, but it felt like running a 5K. I was thoroughly exhausted.

Bryce is doing a great job of making me sit and lay down. I am doing a crap job of taking it easy without getting (gently) reprimanded. Staying still is difficult for me. But, I need to if I am to heal. This is probably the dangerous time, when I'm feeling better but should still be pretty sedentary.

Speaking of sedentary, I need to figure out a way to communicate to my Fitbit that I am recovering from surgery and haven't just given up on life. It keeps buzzing at me and while I tried just not wearing it, I use it as a watch and I ended up missing it. I guess if this is one of my most pressing problems then I am doing okay!

Thanks for the well wishes, I hope I just keep getting a little better each day.

Probably my favorite so far of the books. Also a lovely warm day where I could sit on the deck. 

#Microblog Mondays: I Know What This Is...

The other day I was thinking about my medical leave, which starts tomorrow. Because my hysterectomy is tomorrow, it's just before midnight, and I am currently eating my last food for the foreseeable future, a piece of gluten free honey toast (sounds sad, but I had Bryce's homemade Chicken Makhani for dinner just a couple hours ago, so I am quite full of tasty goodness...although the wisdom of spicy Indian food the night before major surgery may be questionable).

It's six weeks long.

It involves my uterus.

I know what this is: THIS IS MY BIZARRO MATERNITY LEAVE!!!

First, I have to say, I AM NOT SAD. This concept is highly entertaining to me, neither woe-is-me nor meant to pull at the tear ducts.

I never got to take the maternity leave I wanted so badly. And while this isn't the same, as I am losing my supposed babymaker and not getting anything in return other than a beautifully pain-free existence, it does seem a little poetic. To me, anyways.

It's my farewell to the uterus, off-you-go sendoff, a definitive closing of reproductive years that weren't actually all that reproductive. It's a Non-Maternity Leave.

It feels a bit more pleasant framing my recovery from surgically losing most of my reproductive system in this way; it feels more like something oddly celebratory.

Happy Bizarro Maternity Leave Eve to me!

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy! 

#Microblog Mondays: I Forgot

The other day I was driving with my best friend to that home wares store I love, because she was only here for 24 hours and it seemed a fun thing to do.

The daycare center that we were going to send our fictional child to is on the road just before the store. I think about it every time I pass it, but I don't pass by regularly, so it doesn't exactly qualify as a stabby moment. 

Except this time, we were driving past, and I missed the sign (because it's behind a church and that sign is clearly visible, while the daycare sign is one of those folded board things). 

"That's the daycare where we were going to send our child," I said and pointed back towards the woodsy play area. 

"Oh? What's it called?" 

"It's called...It's called...ummmmmm... Rich something?" 

HOLY CRAPADOODLE DOO. I forgot the name. 

I kept searching my mental files for it, and all I could remember was Rich. 

My friend asked, "Does that make you upset?" 

I grinned. I laughed. I CACKLED. 

"NO! I am THRILLED that I forgot the name! I FORGOT THE NAME OF THE DAYCARE WE NEVER SENT A CHILD TO BECAUSE THAT CHILD DIDN'T ACTUALLY EXIST FOR US! This is a freaking MILESTONE!" 

Even though 3 minutes later I did remember, sort of (Bates Rich, but then later Bryce reminded me that this location was called Rich Beginnings, so I still felt giddy about not remembering), it felt AMAZING. 

Once upon a time I held on to all these tiny details that pricked me like a thousand needles, and I carried them as if they were tiny, yet heavy, poisonous treasures. The fact that I am beginning to forget means that I am letting go of some of that information I no longer have to hold on to; it is irrelevant to my present life. I mourned it, I mourned it HARD, but now this particular piece can be released from my mind and my heart. 

I have never been so happy to forget something. 

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!