The Ides of March

I don’t consider myself a private person. A reserved person, yes. But I don’t keep my problems or struggles a secret. I just don’t casually bring them up.

“Hey Ashley!! How are you?”
“Good. I’m just losing my mind and having surgery and my kid might have anxiety and my dog peed on my carpet. How are you?”

I just don’t know how to casually let my friends know what is going on in my life!! I feel bad when I find out 2^nd or 3^rd hand about something my friend or family member has gone through, and I ask them, “Why didn’t you tell me?” And they say they didn’t want to bother me. And that’s how I feel!! I don’t want to bother anyone, or bring unnecessary attention to myself.

But it has been brought to my attention that it is nice to let people know about stuff!! So here it goes!!
I went to my OB/GYN on January 24^th for my routine yearly exam. Now I see my dear doctor more than that, because let’s face it, my reproductive system is messed up. But this was the yearly one. The one we all dread as females. He found multiple polyps and other anomalies during the exam and ordered some tests. No surprise. I always have to have tests ordered. But usually they find the same old stuff. Thick lining, cysts, unbalanced hormones. The polyps were new.

The results from those tests were thankfully benign. But my doctor and I had a very long discussion about removing the source of the problem. A ‘radical hysterectomy’. Which means they take everything except my ovaries. Not to be confused with a total hysterectomy, where they take the uterus but leave the ovaries, fallopian tubes, and cervix. Dr. O is cleaning house!!

He and I mutually decided that I deserve a better quality of life. One that isn’t filled with pain, and blood, and fatigue, and swelling, and emotions. My uterus has 2 sides and they have slowly since puberty started to function independently from each other. That means; it’s like I have TWO cycles. TWO hormone fluctuations. TWO sets of everything but not in correlation with each other. It’s complicated to explain, and I’m sure BORING to listen to!! The final straw was the massive buildup of tissue inside me. The septum that divides my heart shaped uterus doesn’t have a proper blood supply. Just enough to build tissue but not enough to support a placenta or have the strength the shed at the end of a cycle. So it builds, and builds, and builds. Until my entire insides consist of dead, unused, unwanted tissue.

Wednesday, I will be going to have the whole mess removed. Hopefully, after the dust settles, I have relief from the moody organ’s drama, and can have a better quality of life.

If you ask I how am feeling, I will tell you, fine.

But I’m not fine. I’m sad. And scared. And nervous. And disappointed.

I’m scared my body will never be the same. And no not my hard-earned physique. Although, that is scary too. My hormones, my skin, my hair. My guts. My sleep.

I’m nervous that instead of helping, it will only anger the beast.

I’m sad I have fear. I’m sad it will interrupt my life. I am a creature of habit. I like routine. Lying in bed for a week or more. And all the RESTING I’m being asked to do sounds daunting and awful. Yes, let’s leave Ashley to her thoughts for hours on end. Great.

I do NOT like being put under anesthesia. Yes, it’s a control thing. Knowing that doesn’t make me feel better. I do NOT want to be spayed like some nasty old alley cat that’s produced 100 kittens in her life time. I do NOT feel lucky. NOT. AT. ALL.

I do NOT feel like I’m beating nature and now don’t have to worry about “THAT” isle ever again. All I have ever wanted was to just be NORMAL. Complain about the whole process every month until I each my 50s and then go briefly insane like all those who have gone before me.

I’m disappointed, and sad I didn’t get to have more children. I was never brave enough to try. I was warned not to, and never had the courage to trust God would get me threw it. I’m sad I don’t get to use all my cute names I have written down. Or that my husband didn’t have a little boy. I’m sad I didn’t get to name my son after my father. And maybe I never would have!! But this is final. Finite. And it makes me sad.

Now, it does not define me. And I will not spend a life time morning what might have been. But for this moment, I am going to take the time to ponder these things in my heart.

There it is!! I will not be out and about for a while. I may gain weight or lose muscle. I might (ha! definitely) be in yoga pants every time I leave the house. Hell!! I’m in yoga pants now. Yes, I will have a surgical band around my waist to compress and help support everything. I will CHOOSE to wear it. No, it is not a waist trainer. And if it was, why do you care?!

I apologize for the moderately snarky attitude of this post. Like I said, I’m sad. I’m scared.

I have faith that it will all be ok. I just need to get on the other side of the operating table, and then I will have more confidence.