My lady plumbing is being removed on September 30. Because, you know, I didn’t have enough on my emotional plate.
I held it together when the specialist told me, I joked and laughed, but I was teetering on the edge of tears. Not because I’m particularly fond of my lady plumbing, it’s actually a bit of a pain, but because FARKING HELL HAVEN’T I BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH?
Unfortunately, it seems that all the other, less invasive ways of dealing with my problem have a very low chance of success. So lady plumbing removal is the preferred option.
I consider myself quite worldly, but there are many things the specialist told me about lady plumbing removal that quite startled me.
Like I had no idea they whip the cervix out as well. Although apparently that’s a bonus, because you never need another Pap smear and it can make certain activities more “comfortable” for a woman. Cue furious blushing from the patient. (I’ve since Googled this little morsel and there’s an equally blushy school of thought that reckons the cervix should stay, so I’m feeling a little panicked.)
On the subject of blushing, the specialist was keen to point out that lady plumbing removal doesn’t mean never having sex again. The possibility that it might hadn’t occurred to me, but it seems some women are under the misapprehension that it does.
Yes, in 2014.
As for my own misapprehensions, I’d been led to believe lady plumbing could be whipped out like an engine through the tailpipe, which sounded fabulously quick and easy.
But no, in my case it’ll involve some tailpipe action plus three incisions in my belly. So I won’t be showing off my midriff at ’80s parties again for quite some time. Possibly never.
Speaking of my belly, I was fairly preoccupied during the consultation with how long I’d have to wait before resuming gym-related activities. Four bloody weeks. At least. The specialist had to repeat that terrifying figure several times during the consultation because I kept saying:”Hang on … HOW many weeks did you say it would be before I can exercise??”
I’ve put a lot of effort into my abs in recent months, dammit. All bloody wasted and back to square one.
I knew it would be 10 days after the operation before I could drive – a bit of a pisser as a single parent – but I didn’t realise it would also be four weeks before I could work. That’s gonna go down like a bucket of cold vomit on Monday.
My sister-in-law also pointed out I won’t be able to grocery shop, hang washing out, carry anything or clean the house for six weeks.
No biggie with the last one, it’s lucky to happen every six weeks anyway.
And, finally, I’m a little traumatised about losing the cradle that cupped my bubbas for the first nine months of their lives.
Not to mention no longer being capable of having another one. Yes, yes, I know I’m 46, but look at Sonia Kruger. Cruelly, the ultrasound showed that I’m still ovulating. Another baby IS possible.
Of course, I’d be insane to even consider it. But removing the possibility freaks me out slightly. It’s quite confronting to face my childbearing days being officially over.
I called my sister after my appointment, mid-blubber, and asked her what I’d done to deserve ANOTHER awful thing happening to me. Was it because I was a bad person, evidenced by my poor party hosting skills …?
She assured me my poor party hosting skills had nothing to do with my lady plumbing removal. And she insisted that my lady plumbing removal was the last bad thing that was going to happen to me for a loooooong time.
And I was like, yeah, that’s what you said after the last bad thing happened.
And she was like, yes, but this time it’s DEFINITELY the last.
Another startled friend wanted to know how many leprechauns I’d killed in a previous life. Obviously an enormous emerald platoon.
This punk ISN’T feeling lucky.