So, in technical terms I had surgery today...
In not so technical terms, I had a camera inserted in through my cervix, and special 'coils' placed in my fallopian tubes.
The purpose of this?
Permanent female sterilization. The coils will gather scar tissue and effectively block any eggs released by my ovaries.
--
Ages ago, when I was first contacted by the spirit of my future daughter, I also became aware of a boy spirit that would one day be my son. But when my daughters father became emotionally abusive, triggering my escape from hell, followed by an ugly custody battle in which I lost my entire blood family to him as supporters, I decided I could never have another child. I could never bind myself by blood to another human being, ever again.
Fortunately for me, Bran is in total agreement on this.
I said goodbye to my son.
Fast forward to a few years later, and I'm experiencing a tremendous amount of cramping and pain during my menstrual cycle. I'd had a standard copper IUD placed after Misha was born. It was hypothesized that it was responsible for my distress. My care team and I made the decision to switch to a hormone based, plastic IUD. It was all progesterone, so it wasn't going to put me at risk for blood clots.
By the next day, and on a Misha weekend no less, I was sending her off for a day with a sitter while I sat in the ER for over eight hours just to have them tell me that nothing was wrong with the IUD, and I was fine. Despite the extreme pain. (MONTHS later, we learned that the damn thing had either been placed wrong or shifted just about sideways. Nothing wrong my ass!)
On top if the pain, I also contracted some sort of bacterial infection/inflammation.
My memory is hazy on the time line details of that week or so of please make the pain stop. In fact, until 6 days ago, I had completely blocked out one other thing that happened around that time.
It was during this time that I was so physically weakened from pain and infection/inflammation that I had no hope of any attempt at successful emotional regulation, that Set dumped me.
--
Being dumped like that, at that time, sent me on a downward spiral that cascaded into the following events:
- I lost my health insurance and stable income, in the same week.
- I went 5 months without psyche meds, therapy or blood tests to check my INR (i.e. 5 months with a life threatening health condition hanging over my head and no way to know if I was safe or not.)
- Eviction from my apartment home of 5 years.
- A suicide attempt.
- 6 weeks in a locked psyche ward.
- 4 months in homeless shelters.
- 2 years of homelessness.
There's more to what happened during those 2 years of hell. But those are the resounding 'I barely survived this' points.
--
Bran and I did get an apartment about 6 months ago.
Immediately after moving in I crumbled into a pile of dust. I couldn't sleep. I could barely motivate myself enough to eat. I stayed in bed most of the time. I stopped taking ALL my meds, including the blood thinners. Our best guess at the time was that coming out of survival mode had been just as traumatic to my mind as going in.
My INR dropped dangerously low, and yet I still had no motivation towards any kind of self care.
This lasted about 6 weeks, then I finally started to shake it off.
--
One by one, I began to get my mental and physical health issues under control.
One of the things on the list was permanent sterilization.
That one finally came to fruition today.
--
I knew going into this that it was going to be traumatic, both physically and emotionally. I knew it was going to drudge up all the pain from the years of emotional abuse and on through my getting dumped by Set.
I took steps and made a few preemptive strikes against the oncoming onslaught of bad to worse.
Partly with Val's suggestion of Journaling and my own brilliant idea of writing a Ghost Story, I've been composing that blog entry since the 4th.
I saw my chiropractor yesterday, and gave him the heads up.
--
Nevertheless, this morning I was... not okay. I tried to lighten the mood by making Gandalf jokes and heavily peppering my health care directive with assorted Doctor Who and Supernatural geekery. Right down to identifying myself as a devout Castian. However, on the question on how I would best like to die, I had to refrain from quoting Tyrion "In my bed, a the age of 80, with a girls mouth wrapped around my cock."
I don't have a cock. I just wouldn't have worked out.
I reminded Bran of what to do with my remains, should I expire.
Misha is to handle funeral arrangements. It's up to her to decide how she wants to say goodbye. As for my remains... I am to be cremated, my ashes placed in bullets, bullets placed in a glass case:
I also joked with Nick about having himself snipped instead of me... You know, take one for the team. He chuckled at me and said "No." Rather pointedly.
--
The IV went in, but it was a bad stick. Enough to put me out, and then they would try and get a better vein once I was unconscious.
I went down...
--
I practically woke up screaming.
--
I don't know what the dream was, but I remember being traumatized by the number eight. As I was coming back up I told the OR it had been a bad dream. A very bad dream.
--
Wheeled into recovery. It took me 20 minutes to chew through the clay that was 3/4 of a saltine cracker. My mouth was so dry and my throat was raw.
The cramping was horrible. My period on my worst day, squared.
The emotions were worse.
In my head and in my heart I had been transported back in time to the day Set dumped me (we can still be friends), to the day he abandoned me (I don't want to see you again for a long while), and even my suicide attempt from when I tried to escape life without the spiritual half of my support system.
All I wanted was Bran, and to go home, and a bottle of whiskey.
... well, I got Bran anyway. He held my hand and I cried.
Home took some time, and before we left there were express instructions for me to not consume any alcohol... (FUCK)
--
And yet...
... about an hour later...
I was fine.
I was completely... fucking... fine. Emotionally anyway. Cramps were still being bitchy.
While we were waiting to be sent home, I told him a little about the Ghost Story I'd been working on, and he asked to read it.
Turns out he actually LIKES my writing. WTF? Who knew?
--
Home... bed... games...
Bran said he was just going to lay down for a few minutes...
He sacked out for 5 hours.
--
It's just nigh of 4 am (next day) as I'm finishing this entry. I'm wide awake. He's asleep again.
I hope he likes the Ghost Story. I'm really happy with how it's coming along.
--
Very related side note.
Bran has been very attentive. I am absolutely overwhelmed with love for him.
--
So, that's it as far as my reproductive capabilities go. One & Done.
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