I’ve had worse days. I feel weary but pretty good, all things considered.
Everyone was so lovely at the hospital. The nurse who admitted me even waved as they wheeled me past to surgery.
Everything went according to plan. My Googling Gyno gave me the thumbs up afterwards. The only hiccup: my blood pressure lingered in the 70s and 80s for an eternity.
The recovery room is a very boring place. You lie there watching the clock slowly tick, fretting about how long your boyfriend has been languishing in the waiting room and wondering what havoc the dogs have wrought since being locked in the lounge room at 7am.
Every few minutes, the blood pressure thingy would reinflate and tantalise me … Creeping over 90 then dropping back under again.
I was desperate for a wee, but no waaaaay did I want to use a bed pan. (Eventually, I gave in. The horror.)
And I was starving. When I finally got a sandwich, DD took an unflattering photo of me guzzling it and threatened to sell it to the hospital as a publicity photo: “Patients love our food … Even the dry sandwiches.”
As punishment, I made him stop for hot chips and Diet Coke on the way home. OK, not really a punishment.
When DD wondered what I would blog about today, I replied: “That I’m barren.”
I boasted to my Googling Gyno last week that I was still ovulating – noted by the radiologist on my ultrasound – and he dissed my eggs, said they were past their use-by date. But it’s still a bit sad to farewell your fertility by getting your womb blowtorched.
And I make such beautiful babies too. But there will be grandchildren one day … that I can hand back when I get weary …
Do you hate hospitals as much as me? I couldn’t wait to shimmy back into my clothes and thread the IV drip through my sleeves and bra straps, so I could run away as soon as they let me …
Song of the day: Madonna “What it feels like for a girl”