rodeokitchen

T- minus 54 days until my surgery. I have finally relinquished into giving my body grace. Grace to be larger, slower, and less flexible. Grace for things I don’t always wholeheartedly believe. The practice of forgiving oneself- after realizing being the sick kid was never anything to apologize about.

Around day 60 I leaned into wearing maternity clothes and gaining 40 extra pounds. I’ve had some real deep thoughts about why we prostolitize folks when they ask a woman if she’s pregnant… we should be flattered, not offended. Society has vilified a large belly, forgetting the signs of fertility. The curiousness, the ability, the hope of new life.

My new doctor uncovered the reason for my dangerously low blood pressure. I was blindsided. A collection of softball and golf ball size fibroids growing my uterus to more than twice it’s normal size. Mistakingly, I assumed I could wait a year or more before going under the knife. The doctor listened and offered medication to buy me some time. I was terrified of anesthesia taking away my new brain gains, the miracle progress I’ve made in the last few years. My words and memory are finally coming back, I’m able to use a computer and drive. What if I loose it all and have to start over again?

It was fall in Alabama, my then boyfriend mere hours into filing for parental rights of his daughter. He invited me over for dinner and venting. We both had big feelings. The grief I felt harboring a barren waistland washed over me. Contempt for the woman keeping him from his child awakened a raw ache in my soul. I sat on his lap, buried my head in his chest and cried for us both.

That night we drank bottles of wine and broiled our grass fed ribeye in an expensive hi tec contraption under the stars. We had a celebration of solidarity. Perhaps best thing I’ve ever tasted. It was magic; romantic and tragic, as everything was with him. Somewhere between the dancing and the dishes, his strong hands kept my mind steady. He assured me I’d still be smart after the surgery. I promised to stand by him through the custody battle. We weren’t ready, but we both needed to fight. We both felt punished for crimes we did not commit. Indeed, neither of our battles were fair.

Soon our stark realities put miles between us. We spent time away from one another, feeling sorry for ourselves and angry at other people. Certainly not anything constructive. Mostly disassociation and denial. The holidays were harsh, sour for us both. He pushed me away after making comments about wishing his child had a sibling. All I could hear was “What good are you if you can not provide a family? What is the point?” Reluctantly, We went our separate ways. Weeks later, I silently miscarried a baby he never knew existed. It seemed an especially cruel twist of fate. I felt worthless to him and the rest of the world.

I started a new job and bought new clothes. I pretended I didn’t care, about anything. I made big plans and tried to meet new people. The gnawing pain in my abdomen grew worse each week. My mobility decreased significantly. Whispers of the C word grew louder and my doctor scheduled surgery. I had no choice, the fibroids were growing dangerously large and fast. Again, this was not in my plan.

Day 54 I opened my eyes and started to have gratitude for how far I’ve come instead of how many plans have failed. I felt somewhat relieved a choice was being made for me. I dreamt of my past, vivid and bittersweet. Maybe it was Devine intervention reminding me of how dire my situation was 3 years ago – all the things I could not do. I saw my small wins and began to see them quantitatively. It felt surreal, as if this was the moment I was waiting for…. Iris said once, if only I had a diagnosis things would be easier. Now I do, it is, and I can move forward.