Stole My Thunder

M has four adult children.  They’re all smart, they’re all GT, but the oldest, a girl, is also very knowledgeable.  She knows about a wide variety of things – politics, sports, restaurants, money, she speaks Russian, listens to NPR every day, works non-profit – you get it.  She has something to say about everything.  This may come across like I’m jealous, or resent her, which is not the case.  Damnit, she stole my thunder!

I’m at the age when your doctor says, “It’s common for women your age…”, or “As women age…”.  I’ve been avoiding some of those issues for several years.  Lady part issues.  I’ve been plugging along with irregular, river like periods, and intermittent double-over-in-pain cramps.  Simply, to avoid.

Last November I finally went to the doctor.  I have five or six fibroids, a couple of them pretty wicked.  She could scrape the most problematic one, but at some point my uterus has to go.  It’s not critical that I get a hysterectomy now, but I will need to at some point. Doctor said she will try to do it laparoscopic, but the fibroids are so large she may have to do a full incision, so be prepared to take six weeks off.  I can’t take six weeks off!  I’m a lowly school counselor.  So, I’ll get this bad boy done in June.  A reason to spend my Texas summer inside, guilt free. I might even score some relaxing time in the hospital.

I’m the lucky winner! I am going to be resident expert on the not-so-coveted hysterectomy! I am going to be able to talk about the uterus, “as women age” issues, recovery, the best pain meds, support pillow, and the most comfortable underwear.  This. Bitch. Is. Mine!

Last month it was found that oldest daughter had a fucking grapefruit sized fibroid.  It had to come out immediately.  What the fuck?  Didn’t I just say that this bitch is mine? Did I not just claim the glory of being the first person in my circle to get a hysterectomy?

Oldest daughter didn’t get a hysterectomy, but she did get an incision and several fibroids removed.  She even got to stay in the hospital.  She is fine, thank God. I’m so thankful for that.

Now she can tell me all about support pillows and underwear.  But she doesn’t need to tell me anything about pain meds, I got that.  I am my mother’s daughter.

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