Electric kool-aid puddle jumping

Something is very wrong with your life balance if you find yourself relaxing as you lie in theatre awaiting the surgeon’s knife. Or laser. Or whatever.

That’s how I felt when I finally went in my for laparoscopy two days ago. I was scared, because I am a chicken when it comes to all things medical. But  as I  lay there awaiting anaesthesia-induced electric kool aid oblivion, I found myself taking a deep, shuddery  breath and unravelling.

My laparoscopy triggered an emotional implosion; the natural endpoint of  more than a year of trying for a baby with no success, and being pushed  about by a boss who’s not so good at conveying his appreciation for my  work.

As the surgeon took my hand  and told me everything would be fine, I fought back tears and thought, “At least my boss can’t call me for a few days… At least I have four or five days without being asked to make major life decisions, or without being harangued, or made to feel as if my whole career and life plans are hanging by a thread that is held in the hands of an ambitious, unfeeling boss who doesn’t appreciate my skills or effort level.” Or words to that effect.

Yes, it was a pity party. I was exhausted and afraid and so tensed up I hadn’t been able to sleep properly for more than a week. In a weird way I was looking forward to being put to sleep, so I could shrug off my responsibilities.

The operation took a little over an hour and left me with three tiny scars – belly-button and two along the pelvic line. Dr Google had informed me that there could be stabbing pain “like a sword being thrust through my body” from gas seeking to escape my body (they inflate your belly with gas to give them room to move about their tiny lasers and cameras). Thank goodness Dr Google is wrong so much of the time – I had none of that. And I didn’t have any nausea. I just felt tired and stoned and a little pain around my midriff whenever I tried to move too suddenly.

The doctor told me it was all positive – they found lots of endometriosis, which they cleaned up, and they removed a tumour which they are pretty sure if benign off an ovary. My friend S tells me this is very very good news – that they actually found something which could explain why we haven’t got pregnant yet. Logically the chances should improve now. We have a post-op appointment on March 4 where we can talk about options. I remember the doctor saying he wants me to do a three-month treatment to further attack the endometriosis problem.

I don’t care about the endo. All I care about is getting pregnant, especially as at the end of this year I will turn 40 and I feel that every month I am losing one of my very last opportunities to have a baby. I am petrified.

I keep pushing the fear back because of course everyone knows being stressed does not help. And positive thinking is best. But the fear won’t go – it is, after all, founded in reality. I am running out of time.

I pushed the fear back some more yesterday when I woke up feeling so well physically that I went off to visit friends who had just had their second baby in the same clinic that I had just been released from. He’s a gorgeous thing – all fat cheeks – and I loved being amongst friends. But when one said to me good naturedly that it was my turn next, I had to sneak off the bathroom to push back the tears.

After that it was a quick jump to pale and wobbly. When I got back home I curled up in bed and tried not to cry. Rufus called and said he was coming back from an emergency work trip that day after all, and I was so happy that I did cry. He came home to find me a miserable puddle in our bed. He tried to cheer me up but in the end I gave him a good thump and told me him I just needed to cling on to him and cry for a while.

It’s amazing what a good cry can do.

We are going to tell the doctor that my overriding consideration at the moment is to get pregnant. Even more so since we will have to move countries in the next six months, whether I stay in my current role or go elsewhere.

The week before the endo, after bossman gave me the brick wall treatment when I tried to raise the subject of money, I applied for two other jobs.

I had to, really. Because I finally decided that for the first time in my working life, my next step was going to have to be dictated by financial considerations more than job satisfactin or adventure. (I still want satisfaction, but maybe there are compromises that need to be made) If I want a baby, then we need to be able to provide for him/her, and enjoy him/her.

Bossman was furious with me. The upside of this is that it seems he appreciates me after all. The downside is that I felt like my heart was going to come out of my chest with the stress of it all.

All I would like to do right now is keep working hard at my job, and working hard at having a baby. I can’t broach this with my boss – pregnancy and maternity leave are hardly pluses from his perspective. I don’t know how to sort this all out. For now I am focusing on recovering.


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