Saturday, June 24, 2017

Fuck. All. Dis. Mess.

First of all, it's been an excellent six weeks and five days without a uterus.

That is where the positivity in this post ends. 

Let me clarify. I am not writing this to change anyone's life. I am not writing this because people need to feel bad for me. I am not writing it so as to create a good piece of writing. I am not writing this for any reason other than I want to fucking whine. So.


Hysterectomy before 30. Okay. Fine. No carrying children. Fine. Whatever. Surgery was great, doctor is great, hospital's great, I totally recommend Dr. Ruth Pryor for any vagina-related ailment, everything went as well as it possibly could have, very little bleeding, scar doesn't look so bad, no infections, I'm super stoked to not ever need to buy a fucking tampon again since I've already invested at LEAST $1000 in them in the past three years. Whatever.

But here I am, one week and two days before I'm allowed to have sex, and several uncountable weeks before I'm allowed to pick things up. And I have finally cracked. I was chipper as hell for over a month, but I done lost my got damn mind toDAY. What set me off? NOTHING. Literally nothing.

This recovery process is making me even more insane than I already am. I only just started driving last weekend—which, by the way, has been horrible, not being able to take myself places was horrible—and, naturally, as SOON as I got to the street corner, I ran over a chipmunk. First time I'd driven in six weeks and I fucking killed an animal. I screamed my ass all the way to Target and home again.

My friend asked me today how I was doing, and I said something like, "I have cramps but they're not cramps cuz there's nothing there to BE cramped and my muscles are just sore so I wear this abdominal binder brace but it hurts a lot but not wearing it hurts but if I sit upright in the same place for too long it hurts but if I wear the brace to sit then that hurts too but if I stand for too long then it hurts but if I keep lying down like this I'm gonna have a pulmonary embolism and"

And HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO GO GROCERY SHOPPING WHEN I CAN ONLY CARRY FIVE THINGS AT A TIME. Yesterday I came home with ant traps, an ear of corn, a bottle of seltzer, fish sticks, and a pound of salami. WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT. Now my ass gotta go grocery shoppin every gotdamn day just so I can make a fuckin sandwich?

And I KNOW there's nothing I can do to make this process faster and everything seems to be going as well as it should, but staying positive about this shit has got my whole self like Tommy Lee Jones's permanent facial expression. 

PISSED. That means PISSED. Or tired as hell. You pick.

People see me out and about and be like, "Oh perfect, you look great! You have so much energy! So are you coming to my show? Can you usher this event? Can you babysit my kid?" Boo boo, I look great because makeup exists. Have me babysit your child and you gone find both of us unconscious on the kitchen floor when you get home.

And yes. I can be out and about now, finally, and I'm grateful! I am! But then I somehow need like 3 days to recover from 5 minutes of eating catfish bites with my girls, and by the time I open my front door to go grocery shopping for a singular box of Total an entire season has gone by. WHAT IS THIS EXISTENCE.

To be clear, this is significantly better than bleeding 24/7/365 and my body doesn't even know what to do because anemia seems to be a thing of the past. And like, yay for not having seven tumors, and I'm extremely grateful that I came out of this surgery as well as I possibly could have and that everything bad is cleared out and that I'm not going to live a life of misery and then die a death of misery but WHYYYYYYYYY

Thank you for your time.