Thursday, April 25, 2013

New Label: Post-Op Absurdities

There are a few things I realized after the fact that I failed to mention in previous entries that I really ought to have included.  They would have been funnier weaved into the stories, almost in a "you had to be there" kind of way, but it's still stuff I want to write about and share because...well, because it's ridiculous and it's part of the experience, which is what this blog is essentially about.  Right?

Right.

Stuff like...how they wouldn't even consider sending me home from the hospital because I couldn't pass gas (the irony, for anyone who truly knows me, is hilarious), and how the following morning when I not only farted but pooped, too, I shuffled as quickly as I could, wheeling my IV pole down the hall toward the nurses' station. I couldn't wait to find Nurse Karen and tell her, "I passed gas...AND I moved my bowels!"  Beaming like a child who had just pooped on the potty for the first time, I stood there with an ear-to-ear grin, waiting for Nurse Karen to give me a lollipop or something.  She smiled and said, "Good job!  Keep walking and keep up the good work!"

It was one of my proudest moments. 

Earlier this week I had my first follow-up, and shortly after the visit began, the PA asked me, "Do you still have ovaries?"

I don't hear well, and the acoustics in these rooms aren't the greatest, so I asked her to repeat herself.

"Do you still have your ovaries?"

I answered, "Uh, yes."

She said, "So you're still menstruating?"

I said, "Not right this second, but yes.  I still have a period.  Usually. Menopause hasn't quite gotten hold of me yet, but it's putting forth an effort.  Why?"

She held out a piece of paper and said, "This form is for you to sign, acknowledging that we advise against pregnancy for 12 to 18 months after surgery."

I needn't explain the hilarity of this to anyone reading who already knows me, but for the sake of those who don't, I should tell you that I am (a) THE most staunchly Childfree person on the planet, and (b) THE most perpetually SINGLE woman this side of the Mississippi.  Not only am I downright averse to procreating, I lack the, uh, well...the general means to do so, and when the rare opportunity does arise (ha, pardon the pun), I take every precaution possible.  I almost found it insulting to have to sign this silly form.

Oh, and also?  I'm 42 years old.  Ain't no eggs crackin' in this kitchen. 

So ridiculous.




2 comments:

  1. Wait...you're 42???! When I saw your pre-op picture in the hospital I thought "wow, she can't be older than 19!"

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  2. Aw, thanks! And to think people tell me I look years younger now that I've lost weight!

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