Sending you all a huge thank you for your supportive emails and comments regarding my new blogitude!
You are the best.
In the spirit of keeping things spontaneous…
And possibly sticking my big toe over the line into TMIville….
TMIville: the area in which too much information is shared. Possibly creating discomfort or awkwardness for the reader.
I had a hysterectomy last week.
Whew…that wasn’t so hard, was it?
Why in the wide, wide world of sports am I sharing something so personal and off-topic?
Oh, you thought I was joking yesterday?
I’ll spare you the unpleasantries but suffice it to say I had several “issues” that needed to be corrected and a hysterectomy was needed.
Not just any ole hysterectomy, mind you.
A robotic one.
I’m not at all a fearful person, but in this instance I was totally freaked out.
Leading up to the surgery, I was having alternating nightmares.
One involved Will Smith and those freaky looking mannequin robots trying the steal my organs.
The other, even more disturbing, was about this rogue ROOMBA that was trying to vacuum out my lady parts.
Insert loud record scratch….
Did she just say lady parts?
Sorry. That might have been a couple of toes over the line.
Blame it on post-anesthesia fuzzy brain. But just out of curiosity…raise your hand if you’ll never look at a ROOMBA the same.
I’m happy to report that neither happened.
A week and a day after my surgery and I can honestly say that it was a piece of cake.
Well, that may be a teensy overstatement. I did spend the first few days looking for the mack truck that ran over my body. Repeatedly.
But after that? Cake.
Now I’m officially bored out of my mind.
I’ve read several books. Watched several movies.
Seen about 400 episodes of Gilmore Girls (my go-to show when I’m under the weather).
I can’t lift anything.
I can’t drive.
I can’t sign important legal documents. (Wha??? Are they afraid I might bequeath my beloved glue gun to someone unworthy?)
And most devastating of all…to my shadow/sidekick…I cannot throw tennis balls.
Did you know that dogs know how to play the guilt card?
Riley could teach classes on it.
But what a pal. She never leaves my side.
To summarize…(oh thank you, Lord…she’s wrapping this up)…
Now that it’s all done…I’m excited that my quality of life will go up exponentially.
And the thought of never, ever, ever receiving a visit from that old hag Aunt Flo again?
Let’s just say that the happy dance I’m doing will need to be measured on the Richter scale.
As soon as these stitches heal…