It’s About That Time

It’s not going away. I mean, it never does, but the medicine is at least supposed to leave me able to function. But it keeps creeping back. Like a multi-tentacled monster it grabs ahold of my body and refuses to release it. It is agony just to sit. To sit! It leaves me shaking and crying and helpless. All I can do is breathe through it. The medicine doesn’t stop it. The pain reliever only takes the edge off enough for me not to feel insane with the intensity of the pain running throughout my entire body. I finally had the thought…

it’s time. My last surgery was only last year. My recently-deceased lover let me rest at his home and it was so peaceful. I still remember the first surgery. I remember him then: running his fingers over the scar and then just looking at me, wondering how someone so young could have been in so much pain that a cut and burning was the only solution. He was there for me both times, along with my family, along with my current lover and my dear friends. But now it’s back again and he’s not here to see me through the big surgery.

I’ve lost jobs over this shit. I’m so grateful now to have a job where they understand and give me the time to rest instead of just firing me because I’m sick. It does help that I can also do many work tasks from home. My coworkers are awesome; they care about me. I’ve told them…

It’s time. Time for that surgery I always feared. Time for that surgery that I wrote about in my stories, except it was performed by my characters. I wrote those stories nearly ten years ago. I suppose I already suspected it was coming. That there was no other way. Maybe others can live with it. Maybe others can stand taking pills every day. Maybe they hold on because they want to have more children. Maybe they have less severe cases where it only bothers them every once in a while.

But I don’t like it. I can’t live like this. I want to be able to have sex without worrying about hitting one of the many spots that hurts. I want to be able to walk without feeling like my legs and feet are swollen and stiff. I want to be able to sit in a goddamned chair without feeling like there’s a fire in my back spreading through my veins. I want to not have to go to the bathroom every 15 fucking minutes. I want to thrive all the time and not just survive the pain.

It’s time. The surgery won’t take everything away. It won’t fix the way my nerves misfire and send pain signals to my brain because I’ve been in pain so long. It won’t fix the time I’ve lost laid up in bed like an invalid. It won’t cure me. But it’d be a hell of a load off. So, as frightening as it once seemed, it may be the best option right now. I’m only 26. A lot of people would say that’s not fair that I should be so unhealthy, that I should have lost two lovers within the same year, or that I should need such a surgery, but life is life. It’s not pretty, it’s not fair, and it damn sure doesn’t listen to us. We deal with what we are given. We accept what is. We make our own beauty.

I’ll see the doctor in a few weeks. And I’ll tell them…

It’s time.

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7 thoughts on “It’s About That Time

    1. Thank you so much, Bloomin’ Uterus (awesome name, by the way). I wish I could kill it sometimes. It makes no sense. 🙂 it’s nice to know I’m not alone.

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