Once again i shall post a warning to any readers, male or otherwise, who simply do not care to look behind the Powder Room Door, under the estro-curtain, and peek under the sink into the musty warren of – female plumbing.
WARNING: Some de-mystification of female hydro-genitalia may occur. Proceed with caution. You can’t un-read this after the fact…
Several months back i embarked on a pleasant gynecological holiday, into the inner-workings of my girly bits. In a quest to keep my OEM hormone generation parts, avoiding primitive evisceration hysterectomy, i settled on an intermediate option to meet my needs*. Endometrial ablation.
It’s pretty much what it sounds like. Unlike an ultrasound, this probe doesn’t vibrate – it has a mesh heating element. Doc pulls vacuum (10E-3 torr for any geeks still reading) on my uterus, turns on the juice, and it’s done. In and out (so to speak) just like an Indy pit stop. At the hospital at 6:00**, general anesthesia by 7:15, awake in recovery by 8:30, and on my way home by 9:00. Total preparation time: 2 1/4 hour. Bake time: 45 minutes.
Hey, Mom! What’s For Supper!
Now with STEM CELLS!
Special treat tonight, kids! It’s Uterus Helper***!
Pardon me. Did i mention there are painkillers involved. More on that shortly…
As always, my way of dealing with hospitals and medical issues is pretty simple. i behave like a 6 year old boy, telling jokes, being silly and trying to completely minimize the amount of hassle – for me, and anyone else involved.
Had a friend drop me off. He offered to stay and wait, but i encouraged him to kick me out at the curb and go to work – sort of a “Medical FedEx”. He was nice, and stopped the car… After surgery, i called him when they pulled the IV. Thought it would be fun to be picked up “drive-by” style. Couldn’t get enough leverage from the wheelchair to dive in the open window…
The Anesthesiologist, and Nurse Anesthetist, were pretty sprightly considering the early hour. They do get the best drugs… They asked me to stick out my tongue, so of course i did so in the style of a small child, complete with both hands behind my ears, fingers splayed and wagging.
i asked to see the menu, enquiring about something mildly hallucinogenic, with perhaps just a hint of nutmeg. Rather than have amnesia upon recovery, i wanted funky animals and trippy colors. Maybe space flight.
And so it went. We had fun. When the Anesthetist said he’d give me something to relax me? i winked at him and said “Confident young fella, ain’t ya?”. The Anaesthesiologist suggested they also give me something to make the jokes better…
With the “instructions for discharge”****, there was some good news and some bad news. The bad news? No sex for three weeks. My reaction: “WHAT? Doc didn’t tell me THAT?!?!?” He’s being a big stinkin’ baby. Was probably afraid i’d hit him. i’ll have to improvise. Or get a silver bullet. To bite.
The good news? Darvocet. Oh, yeah… so maybe i won’t care that i’m not getting laid?
* My needs? When i asked my doctor about options for ending my monthly annoyance, he assumed that it was primarily due to “usual” problems. My reply: “Umm… not really. I’m recently single, with a menopause time bomb hanging over my ovaries. Won’t be able to use hormones due to breast cancer – so i’m not wasting a minute… Short answer, Doc? i don’t like being on the bench one week a month”. My nerdly little doctor turned various shades of bluish-purple, and hasn’t asked again… sort of averts his eyes and blushes whenever he sees me. Poor dear…
** i had to have a pregnancy test. yeah, i know, legalities and all. but my tubes were cut, tied, cauterized, super-glued, clamped and duct-taped shut in 1999. i told the nurse if i’m pregnant, we’re calling the little fucker “Houdini”.
*** Surprisingly, i couldn’t find an image for “Uterus Helper”. But there was this yummy treat – from an old Saturday Night Live skit… Mmmmmm, good!
**** discharge FROM THE HOSPITAL. Ewww… you guys…. yuk….