Living a life of truth as your mission is hard. It means that sometimes things are uncomfortable. It means that there is no longer sugar-coating to use as a buffer for the bitter pills. Given the choice, I would pick an Advil to down everyday over the extreme horse pills I take for my joints. Ever since I was little I remember letting that pill linger on my tongue, enjoying that sweetness as it devolved. The other morning I tried to quick take said horse pill with my coffee and ended up choking and gagging, spitting the steaming dirty water all over my children as they were having breakfast. They were not phased, nor surprised since I nailed it.  Being inauthentic takes work.
The message I initially began sharing didn’t feel right. Or real. It was a mess of ambiguities, the opposite of fluent and difficult to coax out. So, I am going to tell the truth about why I have been feeling so stuck. I am sure I will be uncomfortable and just hope there is a nugget here that resonates.

For over a year, my body has been having a bit of a difficult time. The physical challenges of being in pain have since seeped into my mind and spirit. My baby making shop, although shut down for five years and counting, is now in such a state that a “condemned” sign might as well hang from my belly button. Do not enter. Beware of falling objects. Or, my favorite, as a friend put in a text chat earlier this week, “Babies ruined your inners, Dude.” Yup. Ain’t that the truth.

The pain brought on a parade of doctor appointments, tests I forgot the names of, ultrasounds, blood work and waiting, a path that lead me to today’s chat with my robotic surgeon. I mean, if you are going the route of having your insides taken out, having a robotic surgeon does sound more badass, does it not? I’ll take it.

Turns out the ultrasound showed some spots in the tissue of the uterine wall. These tiny specks were described to me as champagne bubbles. Sounded about right, my uterus was having a party, celebrating all of it’s hard work. It was like retirement after 10 years of making tiny humans. Pop the bubbly, my friend, you totally earned it! However, it turns out it was more like a depressed pity bubbly pop, a woe is me, farewell party. A party that has both started and ended with pain and going to result in another surgery.  35, you are already challenging me, a full hysterectomy and a bonus procedure to “unstick the parts that are stuck,” technical terms direct from the robot’s mouth, reffering so poetically to  my bowels. Glamorous, I know. It’s okay, you can be jealous of the scar tissue issues that resulted from last January’s partial removal of womanhood. Girl Power!

The physical pain, the emotional reality of an end and the thought that this may bring upon pre menopause is enough to have me popping bubblies of my own, potential night sweats and all. So, if you see me celebrating a little more than normal remember, this too shall pass.  And maybe, just maybe this unsticking with create movement in other areas, allowing me to feel back on track, in more ways than one! It’s like they always say, uterus free’s the way to be!

Champagne kisses and caviar dreams, my good people.

Jenn