They'll be putting me under at the hospital on Tuesday for an outpatient procedure of a feminine nature. If you are one of the visitors this place who was born without a uterus, you may or may not be interested. It might even give you a rumbly tummy, so don't look too far.
If you're one of the visitors to the place who possesses or once possessed a uterus, and who has bled nearly to death, missed vacations/weddings/work/life because of said uterus, or who has enjoyed the childbirth experience to a certain degree short of death and wishes not to experience it again, then you might be interested in uterine ablation.
Because I'm one of those tricky patients, and because they're throwing in a couple of other procedures for good measure, I get to go to the hospital and have it done. I went for pre-registration on Thursday. George and I sat in the waiting room outside of pre-op when Terri Schiavo died. They sent me home with a living will to fill out.
It's still in my purse. Next to my Xanax prescription. I'm more glad to have one than the other. Can you guess which?
I'm only midly anxious. If you count missing three finger nails "mildly." Generally I think that's pretty good. If it's fewer than five, I'm golden.
I don't like hospitals. No, I mean, I really don't.
So all in all I'm okay. Just thought you should know. Like, in case you want to send me an e-card Tuesday night or something.
