Not that I expected that it would be, but...
Why on earth do we actually pay someone to inflict pain on us?
I went under the knife on July 14th. A hysterectomy and bilateral oophorectomy (The word makes me giggle. It means ovaries). To treat adenomyosis, endometriosis, and hemorrhagic ovarian cysts, among other things. Suffice to say, that region of my body hadn't been doing so well this past year.
The surgery went well, and by what my Dr has said, it was a very good decision. And the pathology report says everything removed was benign (even if it certainly didn't act benign while inside of me!)
A long night of dizziness with mass amounts of puke-age and quite a few drugs later, I was able to go home. And I slept. And slept. And did I mention that I slept? Aside from shuffling to the bathroom or gingerly turning in bed, I don't remember much else of the first three days at home.
My dad took time off from work and flew in to take care of the boys while I was still trying to figure out how to even roll over in bed. The boys had a fantastic time with Grandpa J. and were sad to see him go after a week. I was too! But we are forever grateful to him for helping us out.
It is now 12 days out. I can finally walk without hunching over. My stab incisions from the laparoscope are healed. I feel well enough to start helping around the house, but cannot lift, push or pull anything yet because it will tear the internal incisions. Kind of frustrating! Also, I am having hot flashes. And I cannot fall asleep easily. Here comes menopause rearing it's ugly head at the ripe old age of 33. Oy.
