So I've been thinking.
Facing the prospect of surgery again. Not happy. It'll be okay. It's time to get things taken care of once and for all. I've done my homework and I've got time to plan this time. In fact, I think I can stretch out the timeframe until summer when Jenna's off school. At least that would allow for sleeeeeeping in some. But gee wizers. Still scares me. Just been dealing with those types of realizations. Mind games. Something's gotta give.
Listen ladies, if you've had a hysterectomy, I want to hear good things from you--how much energy you have now, how it wasn't so bad--not much worse than a c-section. And I'll take some caveats too.
Listen men, if your wife has had a hysterectomy, I want you to tell me how great she feels now and how you still love her just the same--maybe more. How she's hotter now because she's not stuck in the bathroom two weeks out of the month.
These are the stories I want to hear. You must tell them. They shouldn't be a secret just because the whole thing is a bloody mess. Those kind of secrets kill us. Shame is their lock.
Because my mind, she plays tricks on me. Tickles me with all sorts of worries and fears. The what ifs. But I have time. This non-smoker has to start walking. Gotta be around for my sweet girl. I know these things--I have these goals. Just haven't been so great on executing against them.
When did I stop being 23?
I don't get it.
Read about some of my past reproductive struggles here and other sordid[sic] places in my archives.
