Climbing Through Windows

Chapter IX

My third surgery was scheduled for February. I grew incredibly fearful the months prior. In Sweden, I had been made to sign a form giving the surgeons permission to "remove" parts of me that were deemed harmful. I understand that if something found during surgery looked cancerous or otherwise maleficent that they needed the permission to take necessary precautions. I was told that more than likely, everything would be fine but that there was the possibility (though slight) that they could give me a hysterectomy.

It was a god-awful feeling. Going in for surgery not knowing if you were going to wake up with all your parts. As the time of my third surgery neared and my anxiety peaked, I finally got the courage up to ask Dr. Miracle if this were a possibility.

He assured me that he had never give anyone a hysterectomy without speaking with the patient first. I appreciated his candor, but after living with such a fear for such a long time it is hard to erase it with a mere pat on the back.

That, coupled with the fact that this was the surgery was sobering. This was the surgery that would determine whether or not I even had a chance of conceiving children. For two years I had been living in limbo. Not knowing if it were even possible for me to ever get pregnant.

I was about to find out.

My surgery lasted between three and four hours. My husband was prepared for it, this time. When Dr. Miracle came out to tell Hubbie that all was well, my husband asked him to rate my condition. On a scale of 1 to 10, just how bad was my endo?

The nonchalant rating? Around a 7 or an 8.

This man literally sees the worst of the worst. For him to rate me around an 8? I don't want to be that special.

My recovery was just as painful as my initial surgery. Lots of scraping and cauterizing, and an inability to pee.

There is a special place in hell reserved for nurses who are lazy or insensitive about cathing their patients.

Our post-surgical consult with Dr. Miracle was very straightforward.

• There had been lots of endo in all the same places
• All the same organs had been attached in the same places
  
• He'd been able to get nearly all of it
• The surgeons in Sweden had not fucked me up and had done a fine job
• My tubes were surprisingly fine and clear with not a bit of scar tissue
  

Which transitioned me to my next stage: Pregnancy.

I needed to get pregnant, and I needed to get pregnant now.

Because of the aggressive nature of my endo and its location, Dr. Miracle told me I had a three month window to get pregnant.

Three months.

He did not want to discuss what my options were if I missed this three month window. I can't remember if I even asked.

I left the hospital with an hourglass hanging over my head, and a Rx for an antibiotic that I had to take for a two week course. A medication that would be fatal to any fetus.

So hurry up and get pregnant, but hang on for a couple of weeks until after you take this medicine.

What kind of sick joke is this!?!?

I took the medication as March passed us by. My body began to heal from the surgery, and we ramped up the babymaking.

There is nothing remotely romantic about fertility sex. Chart. Ovulate. The whole I really don't want to talk to you right now but I am ovulating and I need your sperm so shut up let's have sex and be done with it. Then try not to let it take over your every conversation, your every waking moment.

I got my period on April 1st.

I remember shaking my fist at the ceiling and laughing and crying that what a terrible sense of humor the universe must have. April Fool's Day? Come ON!! That is just too obvious of a joke!!

One month down. Two to go.

April passed, and we tried to keep our sense of humor. We had tickets for Music Midtown and were grateful for the distraction. I was due to get my period that same weekend.

I didn't get it.

We went to the festival Saturday. Watched The Offspring and in the back of my mind was the niggling thought Shouldn't I be starting now?

Sunday morning I got out of bed, took out a pregnancy test and peed on the stick.

I didn't tell Hubbie. I just got up and did it.

I waited. It was positive.

I brought the test into our bedroom with a sheepish grin on my face. Hubbie had that same look.

We both agreed that it was premature to get excited about it, but holy shit! It was positive!

Now what the hell were we supposed to do?