Unproductive System

Ever since my surgery consult for my oophorectomy because of serious endometriosis complications (I.E. growing weird ass, gigantic, painful, oddly shaped endometriomas that can get malignant); I’ve been referring to it as my second hysterectomy.

Much like second breakfasts ala Merry and Pippin from LOTR. We’ve had breakfast, yes. But what about second breakfast?

We’ve had a hysterectomy, yes. But what about second hysterectomy?

It’s ok, no one else thinks I’m funny either. I mean, I’M laughing at my own joke. My rational is because my surgeon is more than likely going to have to go through the original c-section scar, which will put me out exactly the same amount of time as the previous extraction because open abdominal surgery is fuckin brutal, so it’s going to feel exactly the same. Hence “second hysterectomy”.

Just ignore that Hyster is Latin for womb and appreciate the Lord of the Rings reference. So what if I’m already missing the hyster? Just enjoy the joke and your elevensies.

I’ll admit at this point in time I’m ready to be cleaned out. Just put me into surgical menopause already. Give me the HRT. Just help me stop producing these insanely bizarre tumors that aren’t even cool, they just suck the life out of me and make me keenly aware that I am in zero control of what’s left of my unproductive system. The ovaries have become the borg and want to assimilate the lower pelvic region.

This whole situation to me, is HIGH comedy in a rather “niche” form. But I was chatting with someone recently who helped shed light on the avoided mental health tragedy of my personal situation.

As previously discussed in various blog rants, I never wanted children. I did not want to reproduce, did not want offspring, and I especially did not want a smarter, more devious mini-clone to take me down later in a (respected) move of ultimate, supreme domination. I have felt this way all my life.

This was so strongly ingrained that I ended up stepping back and letting someone I truly loved move on and eventually out of my life, so they could have the children I just would not give them. I deeply miss our connection still, but I like to think they are very content with fatherhood and that life has panned out in a satisfying way.

**Ironically I ended up partially raising an evil, ADHD genius who is the ultimate match for Evil Auntie Sarah but those are tales for other times.**

The discussion I had recently led to a pivotal moment where I knew, without a doubt, that I did not want to reproduce. This person is on the same wavelength/life path as me so we both had our pivotal moments and shared them. They were both equally as life-changing.

This is mine:

It’s the 90’s. Everyone is listening to Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, Color me Badd, and even though its not so main stream yet- Pearl Jam and Nirvana. I’m in high school and obviously being super careless and 16 years old. I come home one night from a party after being dropped off by whatever poor dude I was dating at that age, and I was very drunk. Mum met me at the door, and could see that I was hilariously inebriated and may have been mad (I do not remember) and I went right off to bed. Mum, being the extremely smart cookie she always has been, hatches out a purely genius plan overnight and decides to teach me a lesson. Which would turn into a life pivoting, core-memory.

We lived in Torrance, California and my grandmother lived in San Dimas, California. At the other end of the Los Angeles basin area. Literally at the foothills, and I want to say about an hour and some change away at that point of time. (I have no idea what the freeway drive is like now and I would imagine its longer and even more painful).

Mum decided to visit her own mom (my grandma) the next day, and I was the designated babysitter, for my two, extremely energetic toddler brothers. One was 2, and the other was 4. And she was going to be gone ALL DAY.

I was hungover and it was a nightmare. My brothers were naturally high maintenance, needy toddlers and the headache was just absolutely ridiculous. The moment I recall is sitting on our blue couch with my head in my hands, as the two of them fought over a toy/tv remote/ bottles/whatever and realizing 1.) This was clearly a punishment- my hangover was why I was watching these kids the whole day. 2.) That I did not want to be an adult with this responsibility. I did NOT want children.

It was literally a flick of a switch in the brain. I looked at my brothers and knew that this was the end of the line for me and that I did not want to reproduce. It wasn’t because they were so terrible, it was just because I didn’t want to do this AGAIN and on PURPOSE.

To add insult to injury; I am 10 years younger than my youngest uncle- so the next family party/gathering that came up pretty quickly had all my aunties and uncles who at that time would be in their 30’s and 20’s- just laughing their butts off at my mothers ingenious punitive measures. I didn’t hear the end of it. For years. Every comment was another nail in the “kid-having” coffin and just more validation for my hungover life decision.

Queue 30 some-ought years later and a surgeon tells me I’ve probably been infertile for YEARS because of wildly invasive endometriosis. This was insanely validating to me, instead of punch in the gut. I was way more I KNEW IT! MUAHAHAHA then “oh shit, this is so sad”. The fact of being unable to have children was just such a non-issue, as I lived up until that point not wanting them. I walked out of that appointment positively elated, for some reason.

I think because like a lot of women in my headspace, we were told for years by everyone that we would WANT CHILDREN. That we would regret it. That its something we all go through.

Nope, I missed that boat completely. It wasn’t even a twinge.

Another example is when I had the first hysterectomy I did hear someone crying, who was wheeled past my room and the nurse made a comment about her being very upset because of her surgery ( we were all separated from the baby having folk) and it took a few seconds between the drugs and mindset where I said something to the affect of ” oh yeah, I guess its a super bummer if you wanted kids”. The nurse actually chuckled, probably solely at my intonation, and I had a vague, abstract moment of realization that I probably sounded heartless and drugged. At least this nurse had a good sense of humor. The idea of being SAD about this was so odd to me in that moment, that I couldn’t even comprehend feeling that emotion.

I don’t think I have to state here that I actually do like kids. I have years of “parenting” with Evie that are recorded in blog form, so its clear to everyone that I’m not a kid hater. I was also a fun “stepmom” figure and I love being an auntie. I genuinely like kids who have opinions, good stories and humor. I’ll watch cartoons with them, totally play Legos, or have some random barbie adventures and get right exactly at their level with a sense of humor just to make them laugh. All that stuff is great. Kids in general are fun, and I’m not bitter and resentful. I just didn’t want the baby duty and responsibility.

And here we are! Full circle? My sister in law is expecting, and here I am waiting to have the remaining bits removed so I can go off into my silver-haired sunset with more unhinged shenanigans, and more freedom to roam as a pain-free antagonist in someone else’s life. Maybe even get their kids riled up and watch as they have to put them to bed as I pour myself a Prosecco.

There will of course, be more health updates amongst my other blathering’s posted here. It’s 10pm here so time for some pain killer and tarot cards.

(That might be the name of my always impending, forever name-changing tarot business venture)