Well, I’m home, in bed, and the percoset has knocked out most of the pain (and made me dopey, so please bear with me). My main joy today is that the dogs are playing. Sunny, usually a grumpy old curmudeon around puppies, has been having a wonderful time play-fighting, wrestling Sugarpaw to the ground, doing her funny little gremlin-growl, punctuated by Sugarpaw’s little pipsqueak bark. They scuffle and growl and attack, wrestling their way all around the house, their nails clicking on the pergo floors. That puppy has brought a fresh new light to our aging mutt, and to the spirit of our family. For all her pain-in-the-ass-ness, the Paw is good medicine.
It’s a gorgeous, blue-sky morning here. The light is filtering in through my gold bedroom curtains. Someone’s calling me, and I can’t get to the phone, but it makes me happy that someone’s calling me. I hear a plane droning by high overhead, and dogs barking in the neighborhood. I’m eating a popsicle.
Doctor Moss, Doctor Shepherd, and Doctor Justice attended to my procedure. Before you get a picture in your head of three doctory guys with glasses and professional distance, permanently sewn into their white coats, let me tell you: Doctors Moss, Shepherd and Justice were three very hot women. Before surgery, when I was all fancied-up in my bouffant cap and paper slippers, they stood in a line at the foot of my bed, explaining things, answering questions and laughing at my stupid slurred jokes. Dr. Moss, quiet, short and brown-skinned, with dimples when she smiled. Dr. Justice, who would be performing the surgery, a white woman with a sweet, youthful face and long brown hair. Dr. Shepherd – oh la la. Seriously hot black woman with hazel eyes and a killer smile. I’m pretty sure Ru wanted to switch clothes and pass as me, willing to endure laproscopy, if only Dr. Shepherd were leaning over her, breathing her air.
I was in a splendid mood. Ru was by my side, holding my hand, smiling. As soon as they put the valium in my blood, even before they wheeled me back to the anesthesiologist, I fell fast asleep. I slept heavily, dreamed deeply, under the comforting dark weight of anesthesia. When I woke up, back in recovery, Dr. Shepherd was asking me something. I don’t remember the conversation much, but apparently I asked a lot of questions, including what was in the cyst (“It was gross. Lots of fat, kind of like cottage cheese, and some hair”).
At this point I learned that the weight of the cyst had twisted the fallopian tube over, like a garden hose, and cut off blood flow to the ovary. It was flopped over and lying on my uterus. They untwisted it to see if blood would come back, but it was gray and dead, and they ended up taking out pretty much everything on the right side – cyst, ovary and tube, pushed it all up and out through one of the holes they had made in my belly. My reproductive organs are now sitting in a jar in a lab somewhere, waiting for biopsy. I sort of feel an empty space in my tummy where they were.
It took me a while to get out of the hospital. They got me into a wheelchair, but I was extremely nauseous and in considerable pain. Ru kept remarking how pale I was. I could see the worry in her face. Eventually, though, we got into the car and made it home. Now I’m happily eating a beautiful spinach saled, my favorite combo of greens, garden tomatoes, feta, almonds, cranberries and Mama Dressing (as Ry calls my simple homemade concoction). I can have as much ice cream as I want. My neighbor Cathy, whose two daughters are Rocky’s constant companions, just brought over what looks to be Italian cream cake. I have two lovely bouquets (one from Mom, of course, one from Cathy). My whole body aches from the gas they puffed into me, but I’m told that’ll go away soon. My tummy feels like – well, like it just underwent surgery. Like a roto-rooter came through my intestines. My poor little belly button is all bloody and burning.
But no more Walter. I think I’m going to dig into that cake now.
Love and gas,
p.s.: Maggie, I felt your love. Thank you.