You don't need no stinkin' Uterus

Well, the uterus-free wife is home, snuggled in her own bed (there's no place like home) and thus I am free to blog away. Now that it's all over, I can confess my darkest fear, celebrate the success of this whole ordeal and recall the infamous pre-op quotes from the drug-filled wife.

Before I go any further, I want you to know that I am the most grateful person on the planet right now. Really. This will be the best Christmas ever. (Well, if I live through all this cleaning and organizing stuff. I am pooped already!)

Many of you may have been thinking "geez, it's only a hysterectomy. One out of three women have one of those puppies--at least some form of hysterectomy-type surgery. My neighbor just had a hysterectomy and she was back at work in four weeks. Whaddaya getting all excited about?"

And, I would answer, "when the surgeon uses words ovarian cancer when speaking of your beloved, you too might get a bit zealous in the drama department."

See, when the wife went to the surgeon, he informed us in plain English that she presented with "classic signs of Ovarian Cancer." I'll tell you what--your heart pounds, the room spins and you want to vomit all over yourself. Trust me, being the drama queen that I am, I figured she'd be a goner and I'd be a drunken mess in some gutter. Doctors always add disclaimers such as, "I won't know until I get in there." Great. That's reassuring.

Of course, the wife being the strong, stoic woman that she is, adapted the "it is what it is" mentality, took it in stride, went on her way and assured me that she did not have cancer. She reminded me that I was the one who originally "diagnosed" her fibroids and seemed to remain focused on my very scientific ability to diagnose medical problems instead of focusing on some lousy surgeon's words who went to med school and is called a doctor for a reason. I was not so good at remaining focused or maintaining my composure. Thank god I had to learn all those chores and tasks so I had a distraction from my terror.

As I do certainly believe that thoughts have "power," I did everything I could to only think positive thoughts. I wrote positive words on my arms (so I would see the words when at work and then be reminded to focus on the positive), I chanted happy little mantras, and whenever the "C" word would pop in my head, I would literally redirect myself by sing-songing, "cancel, clear! cancel, clear! Get that "C" word out of here!" We didn't speak of the "C" word because we really didn't want to give it power and besides, the wife was sure she didn't have cancer.

Suffice it to say, the wife does not have cancer, she is no worse for the wear and she's giddy in delight that it is over. She can gloat about the size and volume of her now homeless uterus, she can challenge others to a "my fibroids were bigger than your fibroids" contest and she can flash her beautiful flat belly all across the nation. Me? I can do a happy dance and do those chores and act like the grateful being that I truly am. Bring on that housework! I am ready to fulfill my partnerish obligations.

Sooo, enough of the sappy stuff or I'll ruin my reputation. Let's get to making fun of the wife. Here are some of the quotes I've been promising. I want you to envision the wife lying on a gurnee, waiting for her turn in surgery, smiling & giggling, spitting out witty snippets, assuring me that she is ALWAYS funny. When you are envisioning this, make sure you envision a giant pooch, as the pooch was so big by this time that it was popping through the blankets. I am telling you, you would have thought she was pregnant and ready for delivery.

The blurbs bubbled forth spontaneously and usually without any precipitating trigger that I could figure. For instance, when she said, "My Wii person wouldn't say I was obese," I had no idea where that came from. One of my favorite comments--and she says she was kidding about this--was " When I get home on Wednesday, I'll have time to clean the house before my mother gets there on Thursday." A moment of truth came when she looked at me (who had just finished texting someone about her status) and chastised me: "You are addicted to your technology. You can't live without your phone or computer."

Ouch. (The truth hurts.)

This was followed by, "you are exploiting me" when I asked to take a photo of her with my camera phone. (Probably not a good idea to have asked that.) Who uses the word "exploit" before major surgery? At this point, I dropped the pen cap on the floor. She responded by stating, "so THAT'S where all the pen caps go." She was distracted from further pen cap discussion by the drip of her IV; she smiled and reported, "that drip can hypnotize you!" After making her Grey's Anatomy comment, she added, "Where's Dr. McAddi when you need her?"

Indeed.

As you know, the surgery went without a hitch and was relatively quick. She was "impressive" and no longer full of all those dang fibroids and gianormous uterus. Before we knew it, the wife was in her hospital room, groggy but aware enough to ensure me that she remembered everything she had said before surgery. Things went really fabulously until the vomiting started....

Oh dear. Can I just say vomiting after having a six inch incision made in your lower belly does NOT look like a fun thing? There was nothing that I could do but hold the barf bucket and hope for the best.

Did I mention she barfed up the Body of Christ? She took communion at 10 AM and by 10:30 AM, the communion host came a-flying out.

I got to talk to the surgeon this morning. (I got up at 4:30 AM so I wouldn't be late and miss him. Besides, I had to shovel and get the laundry going and feed the dogs and vacuum. I'm not kidding. I take my house-hold responsibilities seriously.) He showed me the incision--holy cow!--and gave us all the instructions needed to heal successfully from the surgery (all the do's and do not's of which I shall not recant). The wife goes back to the doctor on Monday to get the staples out--after that, they glue her shut and use steri-strips to make sure the healing continues. He looked at me and said, "What are YOU doing on Monday?" I assured him I would bring her to the appointment. He then turned to the wife and reminded her she was not to drive. She agreed without hesitation.

Now that she's home, it's a normal recovery process for a normal hysterectomy. No drama, no worries, no drunken binges. Just a lot of waiting on the wife hand and foot, covering my tracks, getting everything done, enjoying the view of a very flat belly and the thought of a very healthy wife.

Merry Christmas, indeed.