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off I go to the slaughter house, I mean hospital- hysterectomy day…

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sleeping toddler, on a hotel bed covered in My Little Ponies

Mumu on, check.
No makeup/lotion/nail polish/perfumes, check.
Jewelry off, check.

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I have to be at check in at the hospital at 7:30 am- it is about 20 minutes away from hotel

They say to expect my tum to be swollen a few sizes larger, from the gas they pump into the torso, after surgery.

I don’t know if I stay overnight or not.

I really know nothing.

I am flying by the seat of my pants on this one.

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No coffee for me 😦

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Mourning the impending death of my uterus

 

Not only am I creepily naked and sobbing in the above photos, I am also disgustingly smearing my lipstick, so that it symbolizes the last period I will ever have in my life.

A lot of women hate their periods. I really didn’t until the periods became unbearable. Going into the crone phase, even if it is partial, scares the shit out of me.

Pretty emo for someone of a half-century, I will admit. It’s my crotch party and I’ll cry if I want to…

While my first inclination, as always, is to make snarky jokes about the robots coming for my lady parts tomorrow- I can’t stop crying.

Words fail me.

The fact that I’m having essential organs- parts that are meaningless and useless now- that somehow DEFINED THIS MEAT SUIT for me- removed permanently really is messing with my brain right now.

If I leaned more towards the esoteric, I could just say this is all illusory… this body, this gender, this glove we wear.

I can’t fucking do it. I am grieving, mourning- an anxiety ridden mess.

All the worst case scenarios run through my head:

What if I die on the table?  What if I am that small percentage that has cancer and it causes it to spread?

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2014/02/18/hysterectomy-laparoscopic-morcellation-amy-reed/5347093/

Luckily, now very few hospitals combine DaVinci robotic surgery with morcellation:

https://www.hystersisters.com/vb2/showthread.php?t=588404

The entire thing is usually pulled out of the vagina, presumably after the robotic bits sever the organs from their places.

Still, fucking scary.

My friends and family who have gone through this say it’s a piece of cake- I will no longer be in constant pain, I will love it, etc.

As a consolation prize, they will take my fallopian tubes and keep my ovaries- as long as I agree to ultrasounds every 6 months to monitor the cysts. This means I can go into eventual natural menopause and not instant menopause, as I have Factor V Leiden and can never use hormone replacement.

Also, what makes us female? Is it biological, is it physical, is it a dangly bit of spongy flesh in our innards- is it a hardwiring of of hypothalamus? Is it a spiritual choice made prior to incarnating?

WTF IS it?! Do I become some gender fluid, non-pronoun using being after this?

I don’t know why I am so hysterical right now- I just know that I am.

I know I won’t cease to be ME, who or whatever that may be (unless I die, of course).

I surely didn’t freak out like this when they took my gallbladder almost 2 decades ago.

I’m just scared, I guess. Scared shitless.

My stomach is fat, like a woman 4-5 months pregnant- the adenomyosis has me swollen like a tick on a dog.

I feel miserable. This procedure is supposed to make it all better.

I hope it does.

Losing pieces of ourselves, I wonder if zombies feel the same way, if they were real and could think.

“Oh, shit, my whole crotch just fell out… need more brains…”

Yeah, I need more brains.

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A Letter I Wrote To Myself About Getting Fat

lovely post… well written and worth the read

Put On Your Happy Face

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Shall we talk about your body?

Your body, which used to be thinner. Which you took for granted, because it fitted into cheap, tight dresses. Your body, which took you up and down Brixton Hill, every day, twice a day, never unheralded by catcalls, the stream of men and their “Oh baby hey baby nice tits nice ass hey WHERE YOU GOING?”

Your body was a girl’s body, made from dancing and late nights and skipped dinners, of hopefulness and sleeplessness and sadness. It took care of itself, or rather, you didn’t care that it couldn’t. It wasn’t for you, and so you didn’t mind that you couldn’t always afford to feed and nurture it. The admiration of others was nourishment enough. You often went to bed feeling empty. You thought it was heartbreak. It was probably hunger.

Then your body became plump with love.

Late dinners and later breakfasts…

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