Histerectomy
October/27/2009 09:03 PM Filed in: Satire | Humor | Health | Women | Husbands | Life of a Rock Star | Diane Bittiker
Written by Diane Bittiker
Edited by Nicole Hanratty
Hysterectomy: removal of part or all of the uterus. Derived from the Greek word hystera (womb) with the former notion being that hysterical women were suffering from disturbances of the womb. (Hence removing the uterus was believed to relieve a woman's hysterical behavior.)
The ancient Greeks may have been masters at throwing the javelin, but when it comes to trying to pinpoint the cause of a woman's hysteria they were way off the mark.
Having just had a hysterectomy--I can tell you first hand--my hysteria is still going strong drumming right along side the Duracell bunny. If hysteria was supposed to be removed with my womb then my doctor didn't get the memo.
My hysterical condition was diagnosed a few months back. My physician said my uterus had seen its' days and I would be better off without the old plumbing.
Telling my darling husband (here on referred to as DH*) went well, (I suppose), if you consider "Isn't that an ol' lady surgery" a positive response. He is very funny that sweet man, maybe even hysterical.
For my highly recommended doctor, this would be a routine procedure. But the recovery time for me was going to be anything but and certainly a bit of a set back physically, so choosing the right surgery date was critical.
DH grabbed a calendar and helpfully tried to find a good day for the surgery that would fit into his busy work schedule, not to mention baseball play off games, high school football, and good weather. (If you are going to take time off from work, you may as well maximize the benefits, right?)
July became August, then September, and finally he found a date in October that was good for his schedule. The Yankees were going to be playing and he would be home for every game. Yippee Skippy!
Shades of a Histerectomy were starting to take place.
In preparation, I read a lot about the actual procedure and what would happen to me afterwards. I Googled myself into a panic stricken corner which resulted in a heightening of the hysterical condition.
My one and ONLY request to DH was to have a quiet and peaceful house after the surgery. I had this gut feeling that I would need it. We have several young adult children living outside the home (finally)--we're the Brady Bunch--and I love them all but I did not want them here during my recovery time. I was being selfish and wanted the entire house to myself after I came home from the hospital.
DH decided--behind my back--that the "kids" should be home during the recovery to show respect for their Mom. One of our little adults slipped up letting out the surprise and told me that they were all planning on coming to see Mom's recovery. More hints that a Histerectomy was taking shape.
DH and I had a rather heated discussion regarding my only request and he was sticking to his decision to have them home. Father knows best. After all, the boys could watch the games with him which is certainly a lot more fun than watching TV alone.
The day of reckoning was upon me. I went into the surgery center at 6 AM and was back home in my own bed by 3:30 in the afternoon. Amazing how fast hysteria can be removed these days. A few snips and out with the well used parts--well, twice used--leaving behind only two small Band Aids to represent a life time of abdominal occupancy.
In my groggy post surgical state I wondered, "Could I have sold my used parts? Maybe eBayed them? Hmmm...forgot to ask the doctor that question. Is it too late now? Dang...a fair price for them could have helped offset my $30 co-pay!"
Arriving home heavily drugged, I felt pretty good for a short time. DH sweetly tucked me into bed where I slept for a few blissful hours before the nighttime arrived with a platter full of escalating pain and discomfort.
Two huge annoyances: the requisite catheter and gas pains that rivaled labor contractions. In my hysterical state I worried, "Did the doctor put something in me or take something out?" The gas was just NOT willing to escape from anywhere.
My OS** was crashing big time! I could feel a bit more hysteria creeping into my psyche. Doctor's orders were to walk and drink plenty of fluids to keep the system running. Time to get to work.
The troops hadn't arrived home yet so I had the quiet house to myself to begin following my new regimen. Remember that gut feeling I had about needing a quiet house? I didn't realize how literal that feeling would become. Walk, drink and walk some more while DH slept the night away assuming I was doing the same. Walk and drink. (No alcohol allowed while under the influence of narcotic pain reducing drugs, so it was not even "fun" drinking.) Walk, drink, walk...on and on through the dark night.
Occasional pain meds, walk, drink, empty very annoying catheter bag... Walk, drink, empty and repeat. It seems my walking woke the cat who found the bouncing catheter bag I was dragging behind me entertainment and kitty-kitty began chasing the damn thing. That was all I needed--a punctured leaking catheter bag following me around the house. At least the cat seemed to be having fun.
All the while, I was desperately attempting to get rid of the annoying gas that had invaded my body and was building in intensity. My belly was a bubbling cauldron. As I continued to shuffle, I began to seriously wonder if a human body could actually explode. Wouldn't that be hysterical?
When DH got up in the morning a certain "eeeewww" expression crossed his face when he saw me hunched over, moaning, dragging a half full catheter bag followed by the cat. When he realized I hadn't slept through the night, the "party" was called off.
It was a victory of sorts, sans the falling balloons and confetti. The house was quiet and peaceful all day long except for the allegedly "hysteria-free" woman shuffling back and forth.
Day two:
My system rebooted, although it was still running very slowly. My uterus was gone, my gas began to dissipate. I stood a bit taller, the bag was removed, the cat was finally asleep and purring on the couch. The usual loving understanding expression was ever present on the face of my DH. The Yankees were up by two...
And I am still hysterical. So there ancient Greek scholars.
* Reader take note: DH: a term used very loosely to describe said person strictly for this short story. Any future inclusions of said person by this author may have a completely different name and description.
** OS: If you have to look, it is "operating system"
P.S. My witty daughter read this missive before I sent it out to anyone that could possibly meet the same fate and she added the following comments:
"Another interesting fact about the "hysterical" word root: I remember from my human sexuality class at Cal Poly (ah, the joys of elective classes) that the use of vibrators actually originated in doctor's offices, with the same "troubles of the womb" or "hysteria" theory. So, when a woman was acting up, or getting a little too lusty, (which is unladylike and hysterical of course), she could be prescribed a doctor's visit for a session with his medical vibrator. This would then leave her much more reasonable, calm, and well behaved. The doctor would see this as her being cured of her hysteria, (temporarily, I imagine). I imagine there were a lot of women "acting up" to get that prescription! Perhaps they discreetly wondered if they might be permitted to bring the device home? And hence, a new industry was born!"
