Surgery and Stuff

I did it. 

Remember my frank "talk" I had with my gynecologist some time back? 

On Monday, I had a quick little surgery. 

I say a quick "little" surgery because I still have most of my "parts." The surgery itself was uncomplicated, but for someone like me, there were a few more steps and hurdles. 

I had a little difficulty waking up and my oxygen levels weren't ideal when I was in recovery. But all is good and I was sent home with a few more stitches and a happening pair of fuzzy socks. Color puce. 

It is early. Currently, I am on my couch (I couldn't climb the vast height of my bed) with my cat waiting to take a pill (or two). The rest of the household is asleep.

Including (wait for it), MY MOMMA! She is here! In my house. In Josiah's little bed. 

I know what you're thinking. Why are you just now hearing about all of this STUFF going on with me? I am generally a bit more transparent. After all, I have admitted to losing my skirt in public, frequently going to the Wal-marts with two different shoes AND accidentally putting cough syrup in a coconut cream pie. 

Just. Plain. Goofy. 

That's what I be. 

This season in my life has been just harder to talk about. There is so much going on in the world. Wildfires. Contentious elections. People have just become unhinged. 

The fact that I had to sign a "Consent for Sterilization" seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things. My private pain and suffering seemed almost too tender. It has been a constant reminder of all of my perceived failures. 

Rationally, I know that it was impractical and almost impossible for me to become pregnant again. Plus, the miracle of Josiah's adoption was and is a thing of beauty. I have no complaints. I love being a momma. 

It's just that infertility took away my choices. And some of my dreams. 

But. We do what we have to do...don't we? "Railing" against my body and venting publically about my disappointments and current pain seems counterproductive. And it's really not my thing. 

The reality is that my current list of medications is downright ridiculous. The girls at my pharmacy have memorized my birthdate. I have gained more weight in the past two years year than I previously lost. I don't ever have a day that I am not in pain from all the metal located in my body. I never know when the tide is going to turn and my heart function is going to take another nose dive. For nearly 8 months this year, I bled. I stop breathing when I sleep and sometimes my feet and legs swell so much I can't wear my cute shoes. 

Which is downright insulting, I assure you. 

But, my friends. I am singularly blessed. For the most part, the things that I have suffered have made me a better person. 

I have a husband that adores me. 

I have a son that sat up for two hours last night watching over me before he went to bed. He basically took the "night shift." This boy. He is a treasure. 

I have parents who have always been supportive and allowed me to be "me." 

Not to mention the love and support of all of the rest of my crazy family. And I can't even begin to tell you about my church family. 

They are precious. There is even a sweet couple who stayed at the hospital with my family the whole time I was in surgery and only left when they could see me in recovery. Last night, we were blessed with yummy food and a visit from some of my favorite people. 

And I have a Savior who comforts me. Who keeps me. Who has shown His faithfulness time and time again.

The past few months have been a reckoning for me of sorts. I have needed some quiet and private time to sort through my feelings. And, frankly, I haven't felt my best. I have needed to reserve my energies for evenings at home with my boys. Time spent with good books and mastering my homemade roll technique. Mornings spent in quiet devotion with a good cup of coffee (and plenty of cream). 

It's time for me to take a few more pills. I feel pretty good and my cat is doing an excellent job of keeping me company in this, the wee hours of the morning. But pain is pain and I'd rather not tempt it. 

My momma is here and she brought with her some treasures from my daddy's garden. I got to spend a few hours with my brother (though I would have liked it better if he could have stayed longer and made some of his famous beans). The Muffin has fetched and carried and been as doting as he always is. 

I feel cherished. Not only is it a fact...but it is also a choice. In the long run...no matter what is taken away...so much more is given.