I know it has been some time since I have posted a
blog. I have been working back to health
both physically and mentally after major surgery. I have been doing a lot of introspection,
indulging that part of the darkness of bipolar that gives me laser insight and
clarity into life aspects. Ironic isn’t
it? The darkness renders viable fruit. Always been that way. It is a perk, and as there are so few with
this illness, I go with it.
“Me and Mine” have been through a rough month. As per usual, so many issues intersected to
create a Bermuda Triangle experience. But
miraculously, through it all I have mostly maintained a philosophical
perspective. Maybe it was all the
narcotics post op. I have never
weathered such a physical trauma. What
was supposed to be a relatively uncomplicated hysterectomy that so many women
have, turned into a four hour battle followed by infection that just kept
battering away at my body’s attempt to heal.
The surgery, for me, and the process prior was really very easy. I was treated so well by the “Same Day
Surgery” staff. And, honestly I
weathered it all very well in terms of mental health and emotional acceptance.
There was really only one moment I was stopped short. Now, this surgery was necessary. I have been wanting such a thing to happen
for some time. My quality of life is
improved exponentially as a result, but the bottom line is that I have never
had children. Chris and I decided some
time ago that we just don’t want that path for the duration of our lives. But as I sat in a little cubicle, signing
papers, the paper that I had to sign granting permission for sterilization was
like a slap in the face. I nearly handed
it back to the lady, telling her it didn’t apply to me. Duh.
Of course it did, I realized. I
was forever sealing my fate with that signature. I looked over at Chris, who was sitting next
to me, made some flippant comment about making it official, and signed the
paper. But I have to say, somewhere in
the depths, a part of me broke off and officially lamented such a loss of
inherent nature.
I always figured I would have children when I was
younger. But as I got older and battles
with mental illness made me cynical and old before my time, I began to see that
practicality should win out. Me, having
a small child that would drain me of energy and deprive me of carefully
established sleep patterns that keep me on track, simply was not a good
idea. My head always grasped it, but my
heart didn’t always comply, and as I went through my thirties, the desire to be
a mother increased. But as one long term
relationship ended, and I found myself single once again at the end of my
thirties, I began to realize it just wasn’t in the cards for me. And, honestly, intimate relationships are
hard for me to maintain. It’s not that I’m
not good at them, they just exhaust me.
There is so much control required with bipolar in order to have
relationships that I just don’t see a successful outcome to having a child and
a relationship. It would have been too much.
So at the end of my thirties, I married Chris, and he had
children. I am now a stepmom, and it’s
good. I love that I get to be a part of
Conner’s life and help shape him. But it’s
not the same as having one’s own child.
It just never will be the same, and while I’m grateful I get to play a
role like that, I just plain missed out on something big. It is what it is. I had a miscarriage once, so if it was going
to happen, it would have. But as I was
being wheeled into surgery, under all the medication for pre op, there was
clarity as all the above thoughts scurried through my mind.
At some point, at least for me, there comes a time where I
hit resolution, and even if I don’t actually have closure, I make a decision
and step into it, consequences be damned.
I had a dire need for the surgery, physically. I had committed to it and
signed the papers. I was going to do
it. There would be no miracle of life
for me, no babies growing to individuals with my features. I would have to find meaning and purpose elsewhere.
After surgery my doctor came in to check on me and asked if
the resident doctor who was in attendance for my surgery under her guidance
could come in and ask me some questions.
I was fine with that. Honestly, I
was so doped up, I would have acquiesced to about anything. Both the resident doc and I were to discover
pain medication makes me extremely candid.
More so than usual.
He came in and we exchanged pleasantries. I told him he could ask me anything, and I
think he really just asked basic questions.
My surgery was unique because it was complicated and I had tumors larger
than any they had seen, so I was an anomaly, and as such, a person of
interest. When he finished he asked me
if there was anything I would like to add.
I responded accordingly:
“I hope that if this is what you want to do, take uterus’
from women, that you remember to really think about what you are doing (His
eyes widened). You are not just taking
something that needs to go. When you
take out such parts of a woman, you are taking away any possible ability for
her to bear children. You are taking
away the foundational physiological aspect of significance that is uniquely
woman. Now, I went with a woman surgeon,
because she is the best, but more so because she appreciates what she is doing
when she takes my uterus, and when I tell her to save my ovaries, she is going
to try her best, because she has been through menopause and she knows I’m too
young to have to start that. I can trust
that she appreciates she is changing my physiology, my biological purpose in
life forever. I cannot say that I could
trust you with that. You are a man, and
whether or not you are great at what you do is irrelevant. It is about whether or not you can somehow
empathize with the different species you are altering, that concerns me. So, I
would say to you that if you want to have worth as a surgeon, you remember what
you are taking when you open up a woman and go after her reproductive
system. Remember that she will never
again have the ability to have a baby, that even if doing such a surgery will
save her life, she is going to have to
come to terms with what you took from her while she was sleeping. If you can
remember that throughout your career, you will be the best surgeon you can be”.
He sat stock still staring at me from the end of my
bed. I smiled and said, “Bet you didn’t
think you would get that coming in here.
I’m drugged but not retarded...and you maybe picked the wrong room...I’m
a psychologist.” He smiled and thanked
me for my candor. We exchanged a few
pleasantries, and he went on his way.
For me, the experience with that young surgeon gave meaning
to something that cost me dearly. I
suppose it may be arrogance on my part to think that with every experience I
have to have a deeper meaning in order to accept it. But you know, whenever I ask Abba for rhyme or
reason for an experience, he always answers me by providing me with a lesson
for someone else, and by sharing it with them, I’m the one who truly learns.
“Sometimes I feel cold as steel, like I’m never gonna heal...I
see a little light, a little grace, a little faith unfurl...all the empty
disappears, I remember why I’m here...just surrender and believe, I fall down
on my knees” (Hello World...Lady
Antebellum). I’m not sure where I am in
the sequence referenced above. I think I’m
healing both physically and emotionally.
I was off lithium for a few weeks, longer than I have been in over 20
years, so there has been damage done mentally.
Lithium is hard on kidneys, so urinary tract infections do not allow for
its use. I am now trying to get it back
in my system. I’m amazed at how I’m
managing, considering there is nothing to corral the errant brain
chemicals. I just keep going through
each moment of the day, telling myself with every mood storm that it will
pass. I clench my teeth and try not to
talk or move until the chaos subsides in my mind, and I keep telling myself it
was worth it. The loss of purpose, the
loss of mind, the loss of health, and the loss of goals I had nearly
accomplished before the surgery. I am
paying into the future. That is what it
was for. And so I trust Abba to get me
to that point. I surrender any fear or
confusion and I just believe...come what may.
I may never give birth or hold a child of my own, but that is just the
way things turned out, and as I told my niece the other day, one must let go of
the past and firmly march into the future.
So that is what I’m going to do.
Blessings,
L
*Blog title from Lady Antebellum's "Hello World"
