A Womb With A View

For those keeping score at home, tomorrow is the one year anniversary of the removal of my lady parts. For those who, unlike me, have the sensibility of someone older than a twelve year old boy, that would be a Hysterectomy.

In the year since my uterus and ovaries were evicted, I’ve had a lot of life changes. Just prior to the surgery, we gained a daughter-in-law, and by default, three granddaughters and a grandson. I haven’t talked about it much, but the oldest granddaughter is now pregnant, so I’m apparently going to be a great-grandmother a few short months after I turn forty-eight.

No, I haven’t quite wrapped my brain around that yet. Maybe there’ll be a post about that in the future. In the meantime, I’ll just keep reeling at the fact that I’m going to be someone’s Great-Glam-ma while I still have a teenager living in the house.

Life is weird, isn’t it???

My boss says one of these days I’m going to be one of those old ladies sitting in the middle of a photo full of people with a caption that says, “Seven generations all in one room!”

Thanks, J. You’re a class act.

Post surgery, I quit my job at Satan’s Butthole and started working at Not Satan’s Butthole, where I’m basically doing the same job but I’m getting treated a hell of a lot better.

I still feed various critters in the neighborhood, including the feral cats, Polly the Opposum and Randy the Raccoon. I haven’t seen any of Carmela the Spider’s offspring, but I’ve had to kill a ton of ants and a few wasps.

Mr. Luna and Kova are still my babies inside the house, but we now have a new addition and this is the first time I’m writing about her. I believe she may be related to my pride of porch kitties but she was definitely born to be an indoor princess, as she ran straight to me and into my arms, which is pretty much all it takes for me to adopt an animal.

Meet Lucy.

The name is in honor of The Husband Dude’s second favorite redhead: Lucille Ball.

And how does Mr. Luna feel about his baby sister?

But I guess the funniest thing about the year since I had my baby holder removed is that the best selling items in my Zazzle store are related to removing baby holders.

Yes, it’s true. An idea born out of the after effects of anesthesia and a lovely haze of Oxycontin has turned into actual sellable products. My hysterectomy collection of cards, gifts and novelties still outsell my other designs by a pretty fair margin.

You have no idea how funny it is to open my email and get to tell The Husband Dude, “I sold another uterus pillow!”

If you are one of the customers who has bought one of these funny Lady Part items, thank you so much! If you want to see the collection, you’ll find it at the link below:

So I’ll end this post with the make-believe conversation I had with my Lady Parts that I originally posted the day of my Hysterectomy. The post was titled “You’re Fired!” You can read my other Hysterectomy posts here.

Enjoy.

You’re Fired!

If you are squeamish about “sensitive female issues”, this probably isn’t the blog post for you. You’ve been warned!

Me: Well, Ladies, I’ve gathered you all here today for your annual work evaluation.

Lady Parts: Did we pass with flying colors as usual?

Me: Well…not exactly…I’m afraid I got a bad report from the doctor this year. Do you have anything you want to admit?

Lady Parts: Like what?

Me: Don’t play coy with me. Uterus, you know that dirty little secret you’ve been hiding. Does the word “fibroid” mean anything to you?

Uterus: Er, uh, well….it’s not cancerous so it’s not THAT bad, is it?

Me: Dude. Really? Heavy, crampy periods? Periods that last longer? Periods that come closer together? Were you just going to keep going on like nothing was happening when I had one big month-long period?

Uterus: Oh, now. You’re being a little dramatic, aren’t you?

Me: You grew a mass the size of a softball in my baby holder! I have a fibroid baby now! In fact, I feel like I should name it at this point.

Cervix: *snickers*

Me: Oh no, Cervix. I wouldn’t laugh if I were you. She found two polyps on you. What do you have to say for yourself?

Cervix: But they were also non-cancerous.

Me: So if you were cooking meth, should I just congratulate you for not blowing things up?

Cervix: I’m a cervix. I can’t cook meth.

Me: You’re a cervix. You can’t even talk. This is me in an anesthesia-induced dream. So, for all I know, you COULD cook meth!

Cervix: I’ve given you nearly forty-seven good years. How can you just terminate me like this?

Me: You were given one job to do, years ago, and you failed miserably.

Cervix: What are you talking about?

Me: Does twelve hours of hard labor jog your memory?

Cervix: Don’t blame ME for that! You’re the one who wanted to be induced. Uterus is the one that caused all the pain!

Uterus: That’s not fair. I was given drugs to force me to start my job. Without contractions, you can’t push a baby out.

Me: Cervix, it was YOUR job to dilate. What did you do?

Cervix: I dilated!

Me: You’re supposed to dilate to ten. Not nine. Not nine point five. TEN!

Cervix: Technically, they said I was a ten.

Me: Technically, you left a small lip that didn’t allow me to push that baby’s head through. Do you have any idea how traumatized The Husband Dude still is from that? He spent hours watching me try to push that baby out. Instead, he watched everything else come out of there EXCEPT his son! He still has flashbacks sixteen years later. I think he has PTSD.

Cervix: But all’s well that ends well, right? You had a C-section, you had a healthy baby, and now you have a big, hairy teenager.

Me: That doesn’t get you off the hook. The doctor found two polyps on you when she reviewed my ultrasound. It sounds to me like you were planning something. Do you care to explain?

Cervix: Those came back benign, didn’t they?

Me: For now. What you were you planning to do with them later on?

*crickets chirping*

Me: That’s what I thought.

Ovaries: Sounds like I’m the only one that got a glowing report from the doctor.

Me: Oh. Feeling good about yourselves, are you?

Ovaries: Well…the doctor did say we look great.

Me: Yeah. So great. I’m forty-seven years old. I haven’t wanted another baby for at least ten years. And yet, you two bitches would NOT die. You just kept going on and on and on…

Ovaries: Wait a minute! Are you knocking us because we did our job perfectly for thirty-five years?!? You’re knocking us because we’re still going strong?

Me: Yes. Yes I am. Thirty-five years of hormones raging through my body, making me a psycho every month. How about all that water we retained? How about the hundreds of pounds of Hershey’s kisses that have been decimated over the years because of you? If I left you intact, I could have another ten years of this shit.

Ovaries: But we can help you not get Osteoperosis. We can help you stay youthful.

Me: Youthful?!? HAVE YOU SEEN MY CHIN HAIR?!? If I let it go, I could join ZZ Top. But that’s not the real reason I’m cutting you out too. I think you know what I’m talking about.

*Cervix and Uterus slowly turn toward Ovaries.*

Ovaries: I….I…don’t know what you’re talking about.

Me: You almost sound convincing. But you and I both know the truth.

Ovaries: No. It’s not true.

Me: Oh but it is. You and I both know that one of these days, I’ll be going along thinking everything is cool, and then you little bitches will completely self-destruct and take me out as collateral damage.

Ovaries: NO! IT’S NOT TRUE!

Me: YOU’RE TERRORISTS! ADMIT IT! DON’T MAKE ME WATERBOARD YOU!

Ovaries: It’s not our fault. It’s genetics. You can’t blame us for being dipped in the shitty genetic swimming pool of your family.

Me (nodding): Yes. You’re right about that. But that doesn’t change anything. You’re still two little sleeper cells, waiting to get your genetic orders to rot my guts from the inside out. I can’t let that happen. You know it. I know it.

Ovaries (sighing): Yes. We know.

Me: Don’t feel bad, Lady Parts. We had a good run. You get extra credit for never having caused me any major problems before this. It’s not like we ever had to deal with endometriosis or cysts or anything like that. Plus, you did help me grow an absolutely adorable baby boy who is now a pretty cute teenager that’s eating me out of house and home. I definitely give you props for that.

Lady Parts: So what happens now?

Me: Well…in a little while, they’re going to wheel me into surgery and evict you. It’s my understanding you’ll be moved to a pathology lab where they’ll give one last once-over to make sure you didn’t already start the cancer thingy. Then…

Lady Parts: Then…?

Me: I think you go in a lab waste receptacle to be destroyed. Sorry.

Lady Parts: Oh….

Me: The Husband Dude asked the doctor if we could put you in a jar and take you home but she looked a little irritated by that question, and frankly, a little grossed out. You have to give him kudos for that, though.

Lady Parts: *collective sigh*

Me: Don’t feel bad, my old friends. I promise I’ll think of you every time I have a hot flash.

Lady Parts: It’s just that…

Me: What?

Lady Parts: You gave your cell phone an obituary. All we get is a dialogue like we’re employees getting fired?

Me: Don’t think of it as being fired. Think of it as an early retirement.

Lady Parts: Well…it’s not like we’re going to be partying on the beach…

Hormone Replacement Therapy: Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t know anybody would be here! I just thought I’d get here early and check things out…

*Everyone kind of stares at each other for a few seconds*

Ovaries: Hormones? Fake hormones? I hope you’re not expecting me to train my replacements! I’m outta here! Come on Lady Parts!

Me (looking at HRT): Well…THAT was awkward…

HRT: So…ummm…the temperature is a little cold in here. I know I’m supposed to stop hot flashes, but do you mind if I just turn up the thermostat a little…?

Me: Man…you suck almost as much as the real thing.

Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring!