Summer started and is having fun with my already questionable circadian cycles.
But before I start complaining about not enough sleep-
Am I better from the thing yet?
Getting there. I guess. Week four post surgery seems to have been a turning point.
For the first time in perhaps months, I had real energy go go out and do things. One matcha drink and I was able to get through a whole day without wanting to kill myself for my inability to function. That’s progress!
So while I am trying to understand myself as a well person- if indeed I am well; I am trying to catch up on things that I have left sitting there. For example-
This is a .gif I started to make for St. Patrick’s day and put together a finished product now at the end of June. Yeesh. I’m just in time for… St. Plutarco. Yay, Plutarch.
It’s nothing spectacular, but getting something done is a reason to celebrate… or so I am told.
I will have to celebrate by taking a nap. Two naps maybe.
When I got sick with Brucellosis et al, I did a bunch of tests to show that it was indeed bacterial infections screwing me over. Doctors needed all the proofsss. And even then, some of them- (assholes!)- shrugged at the fact that my spleen was enlarged, and I did have some kidney damage. Those things mean nothing; obviously.
The tests also showed that I had a fibroid in my uterus.
Good to know, but that wasn’t the current issue I was trying to deal with. Or was it?
I go on and on with feeling ok and then then terrible- almost up and then way back down again; with no real follow up care because I don’t have like a primary care doctor or a cohesive team of specialists looking out for my health and well-being. I’m just fucking winging it- during a pandemic- as you do in third world settings.
So I had to be the one to get blood work on my own and figure out for myself that I’m anemic. Often.
And then I start feeling this pressure and pain in my left side. I knew instantly it was that frelling tumor.
So I hit up a gynecologist. We see that the fibroid had pretty much doubled in size since last it was seen. The doc tells me just take it all out. Like hey- if that uterus offends, pluck it the fuck on out of there!
I can keep my ovaries and continue suffering the subtle devastation of hormone fluctuation sensitivity; I’m just not going to have kids in any conventional way.
Great.
It took me years to make this thing inside me and it’s not even treated like a pearl. It’s not precious. It is studied for cancer and thrown away.
Good for nothing.
How it is that it has so little value? Because it is so common? Because it is a soulless mass of flesh that causes nothing but pain? Yet some of those walk(ed) the earth with names that will be remembered by history…
But this was a thing that I made! And, like that cancer I grew, I don’t even know how I have had the energy and extra materials to make it!
Along with this growth being yeeted, I am having an organ removed. I might be lousy at being a ‘woman’ (whatever that is), but I can’t help but be kind of attached to my organs- even if my relationship with them is complicated. I would enjoy not suffering things every month, but psychologically, I don’t need more parts taken away from me. I don’t need to be made lesser than I already feel I am.
Thoughts about my birthday have barely come to mind this year.
I used to be such a Taurus desiring to celebrate the whole month of May. Celebrate all the lovely Taureans; celebrate May Day; celebrate Beltane; celebrate Star Wars Day; celebrate moms; celebrate Lemuralia, birds, turtles, goths, geeks, composting, limericks, irises, archery, decency, paper airplanes, road trips, paperclips, freedom of the press, coal miners- all the workers, laughing and smiling, tuna, technology, biological diversity…
