Yesterday I had my appointment to discuss the horror that has become my reproductive system. We did another ultrasound and he found that my endometriosis seems to have produced a lovely assortment of polyps along my uterine wall which explains a lot of the horrible things I’ve been experiencing. (I’ll spare the details here. There are enough details here to last a blog lifetime.) While a hysterectomy is – of course – an option, he doesn’t want to go down that road yet. It will definitely solve my problems, but the recovery time is at least 6 weeks and the 4+ weeks I took off of running last fall with my pregnancy and miscarriage made me as close to needing to be institutionalized as I’ve ever been. So…we want to save that as a last resort. Making me cope with something like a hysterectomy without my therapy of running is a recipe for a mental disaster. We want to avoid that recipe as long as possible.
SO! Endometrial Ablation it is! And we knew we were not supposed to make that decision until we were ready to be done having kids. Which we are. But it turns out that they recommend a tubal ligation too, because, technically we could still get pregnant. As in – the egg could still be fertilized. But, implantation would be difficult/impossible and there would not be enough fetal lining to sustain the fetus. In other words, a normal woman would be almost guaranteed to miscarry. Me? Well…we all know that if there’s a chance to miscarry, I’m going to take it.
(Remember when they told me I was a habitual aborter? Like it was some kind of drug I couldn’t quit? Good times.)
SO! Tubal ligation it is! And even though we agreed we were done having kids. And even though we knew the endometrial ablation would make us unable to have kids. Something about the decision to get my tubes tied was the one that REALLY hit me. And…I started crying.
OF COURSE I STARTED CRYING. Because I can’t talk to my ObGyn without crying, evidently. Pregnancies. Miscarriages. Yearly Exams. Whatever…I cry.
“Are you sure you’re really ready to make this decision?” “Yes. I’ve been miserable and I know I’m not emotionally stable enough to handle one more pregnancy loss.” “You’re just sad about it?” “Yes. Yes, I’m sad about it.”
So we’re scheduled for August 9th. It’s a good thing it’s that far off because that will give me one more surely DREADFUL period to suffer through before the surgery, cementing in my mind why we’re doing it in the first place.
I left the office with tear-stained cheeks. I called Donnie to give him an update and tried not to cry again on the walk to my car. As I entered the parking deck, where I was parked on the 4th level, the phone cut out. This was a good thing because, as I was taking the stairs up I saw this and SCREAMED BLOODY MURDER:
What? Having an emotional episode due to the realization that you aren’t going to have any more children? Well! The quickest cure for that is a SNAKE IN A STAIRWELL.
But! Did I take the elevator? NO! I walked up the rest of the way on the actual ramps you drive. NO SNAKE WILL MAKE ME USE AN ELEVATOR, DAMMIT.
And…how was your day yesterday?