I knew you all were sitting around at home thinking, oh my, I wonder how exciting Q’s life is, now that she has given up an internal organ? Has the universe shifted to accommodate this change? Are the paparazzi clamoring for interviews?  I just couldn’t keep you in suspense any longer, so here you have it: my exciting day.

4:15am Wake up with strong dull ache deep in my pelvis. Take another of those 600 mg Ibuprofen tablets my surgeon prescribed. Pee, which is so much nicer than letting it all drip into a catheter. Resolve to always be grateful for the ability to pee. Go back to sleep.

early grey8:00am Wake up again, feeling better. Kiss husband good morning and then send him off to the kitchen to make my morning cup of Earl Grey. Wonder, for no good reason, if Lord Grey, whoever he was, ever knew anything about the uterus, or only about bergamot.

8:45am Pull on smelly old clothes from yesterday and go out into the living room for breakfast. Wooden kitchen chairs are much too uncomfortable, so these days I sit in the recliner. We discovered that the leaf in the kitchen table fits perfectly across the arms of the recliner, making me a built-in table. Extra bonus points because the table belonged to my beloved grandparents and having it in front of me reminds me of them. Eat one fried egg and one homemade whole wheat roll. Read a couple of blogs.

10:30am Wave goodbye to dear husband as he leaves to take our two dogs out to the river for a long walk. They have only had short walks at the nearby park this past week, poor babies. They were starting to get restless, and husband as well, so I sent them out to play. I’m no longer unsteady on my feet so I’ve graduated to unsupervised time (“I’m a big girl now!”). Continue online reading. Wonder all the while whether it is my vagina or my bladder that seems to be twitching every few minutes and how long that is going to last.

scars11:30am Shut down the computer and take a shower, carefully. Look in the mirror at my abdominal scars and guess that probably two of the five will not heal flat, including the one at my navel.* Decide I haven’t worn a two-piece bathing suit in probably more than 15 years, so whatever. Shrug. Enjoy the warm water on my head and body. Get out of the shower and recoil in horror at the smell of the clothes I have been wearing. Throw them all in the laundry and try to find something soft and comfortable to wear. Select pajama bottoms with a wide elastic waistband, tank top and sweatshirt. Skip makeup and jewelry.

Meaning12:00 Decide the shower initiative was utterly exhausting. Set Pandora to play relaxing spa-like music. Take an oxycodone and crawl into bed. Read a few pages from our book group’s current selection, The Meaning of Human Existence by Edward O. Wilson. Ponder the paradox of how our existence is accidental and therefore meaningless but incorporates a consciousness and self-awareness and is therefore deeply meaningful. Make some kind of momentary connection between the Big Bang and Buddhism. Realize that thoughts are spinning in a narcotic-inspired way. Set the book down and try to nap. Unable to sleep, float around in a restful space without stress or emotional complexities. Wonder if oxycodone is a cure for depression. Ask self, how bad can addiction really be? Remember Jesse and his girlfriend from Breaking Bad and tell self: Really bad.

1:45pm Hear husband and puppies return from their seven-mile walk. Note that all three of them seem to have worked off some of their youthful restlessness. Note also that I seem to have worked off my own youthful restlessness some twenty years ago. Shrug. Appreciate the drug-induced it-doesn’t-matter mood I am in.

2:30pm Move back to the living room recliner. Eat some broccoli and a leftover slice of pizza. Continue my task of cleaning out old emails. Reread some of the email exchanges I had with my closest friend from 2006 and 2007. Become nostalgic for a time when we communicated more regularly. Decide to write her an excruciatingly detailed email simply because I have the time to do it, and because she can handle hearing about The Meaning of Human Existence and my twitchy vagina (or bladder) in the same email.

Almost 5pm. Make myself a cup of tea. Shake my head in astonishment at all I have accomplished today. Suggest to husband that we take a walk around the park. Walk extremely slowly. Return home and slide back into the recliner. Ask dear husband to make me a spinach, mango and grape smoothie. Drink the smoothie. Listen to the news on NPR. Decide to use my email to close friend as the starting point for this blog post. Send expansive, Big Bang-Buddha-like, we-are-all-connected loving thoughts out to all my blogging friends.


* Photo is not me but rather an image obtained online. Incisions are fairly similar to mine.