I originally started this post back in late February (three months ago) and am only now feeling ready to share.
(Feb. 20, 2015)
I had surgery at Christmas. It was a small thing. It was a huge thing. And, as these things do, the procedure left me scarred. Today, I looked at my little scars. I inspect them every day in the shower – not something that’s particularly necessary anymore, and hasn’t been for weeks and weeks – but it’s something of a habit, established in the hours and days after my hysterectomy. At first, I hated my little scars – angry little red marks that mar my otherwise lovely skin, reminding me of my need for ‘fixing’. Now, though…Now, they are simply part of me. Their aesthetic is growing on me. Almost, but not quite yet, my badges of honor, my winners’ trophy.
For years, I was on the losing end of a fight with my body. I thought I was winning because I was toughing out the challenge. I was drawing ever closer to the ‘magical age’ of menopause without giving up or giving in, and I was going to make it to the finish line with my body intact and be declared the victor. As I type this, I shake my head at myself for my misguided, wrong-headed notion of winning what was never a contest in the first place.
(May 25, 2015)
Today, five months to the day that I came home from hospital (yep, Christmas Day), I’m ready to declare my victory. Kicking the offending organs to the curb was the best thing for me. My holding on to them was only making me sick. And I had no idea how sick I was, until suddenly I wasn’t anymore! I am stronger than I have been in years, and I feel so much more able! Able to enjoy life without worrying over gross girly things, able to power though my days without needing naps, able to exercise the way I want to. I’m training for a half-marathon in October – something quite unthinkable a year ago.
I am proud of my scars. They really are tiny, but they’ve made such a huge difference in my life. I want to show them off. Here they are, in all their glory, from the photo I took the day I started my post in February. One on my right hip, two on my left, and one, barely visible, in my belly button. They’ve settled in a bit since then, although they’re still visible, and always will be. A constant reminder of the time I (finally) listened to my body, got ‘fixed’ and then healed more beautifully than I imagined possible.
P.S. – I hate that as a culture, we shy away from talking about girl-stuff. Yeah, it’s not great, but it needs to be talked about. I didn’t understand that what I dealt with wasn’t normal, because we don’t talk about what normal is. This isn’t normal, for instance. I am happy to talk about it, and all the gory details. Leave a comment, and I will get back with you – promise!