“I decided I want to make clay pots instead of being a microbiologist.”

Imagine exclaiming this in your senior year as a college undergrad after working all those summers cleaning toilets or bailing hay for tuition?!

In early December, I was back from my surgery and the hospital, no evidence of Endo lesions, and crying at home about “who AM I now?!” and my husband hugged me and said “Well, you just changed your major is all.”

Me: “But in the middle of SENIOR YEAR?! I’m an expert on Endo of 27 years. A fighter. A warrior. See all my running gear, elliptical machine, weights and spear as proof?!”

My husband: “You THOUGHT you were an expert, but we just saw one of the WORLD experts and he knows more than you. He works with that every single day.”

That’s true. He wouldn’t know what Orthomyalina subquadrata (my paleontology thesis) is but Endo is his game. And so is pelvic pain.

My husband: “And he said this would be your last laproscopy. Ever.”

Me: ” Ever?!”

Ever.

I stared at the Red Rocks through wet eyes, waiting for a giant stamp of approval to come flying towards the patio. But there was stillness.

This grizzled warrior’s eyes welled with the pain and tears and missed things of 40 years.

And her dusty, tan, bandaged 9 year old hands put the spear upon the Red Rocks. And let it rest.

And she wondered who she could be now, asking the Permian sand dunes advice, but there was stillness.

Insignificance.

Smallness.

Purposelessness.

And then a thought of learning something new. A giant book in her mind appeared. Chapter 1: Hypertonic pelvis & anatomy (ooo, science I love, like sculptures and birds and writing).

“Careful, you need to approach this like a Butterfly; no spear, no ‘boooyaaa, kill it!’ Attitude.”

Quiet.

Calm.

Stretching.

Resting.”

11 days on and the questions from concerned loved ones continue. “How are you feeling?”

I’ve come to realise that there are various acceptable answers to this. I spin the gameshow answer wheel…

Lost?

Scared about continence?

Unsure what my pelvic floor might do next?

Afraid to eat food?

Grieving?

Unable to sit or stand for very long?

Angry?

And I hear a gameshow host say

“Noooo..I’m sorry, those are in the Bankrupt Too-True Zone…spin again and try for the ‘Socially Acceptable Zombie’ zones.”

SPIN

Better?

Grateful that Endo has been erradicated?

Awesome!?

Never Better?

“Yes! That’s the way, by Jove.”

Each day is different and it is early days. The endo is gone. The Pelvic Floor Dysfunction challenge begins. The nerve block has worn off and I can feel the deep, dull pain of the 30 Botox injections into the pelvic floor. The bruises from the IV on my arm remain. The puncture wounds from the robot onto my abdomen remain and are about a 1 or 2 on the painscale, like a beesting or broken arm.

I’ve picked up a different tribe flag: the PFD (Pelvic Floor Dysfunction) group on Facebook. It’s a lifeline. I’m not alone. There is horror and hope here just like my beloved Endometropolis group.

I make a plan each day:

Shower

Put on fresh track suit with bling (“So 2000 and late…”)

Do hair & makeup and lashes

Check on my new FB Facebook group. I can’t answer any questions or help much yet, but I will. I flail. Post cute stickers of support.

Do Relaxing yoga routine until it seems too easy.

Do 1 new thing. Today I might like to look at natural shampoo at Natural Grocers and maybe print a sheet of mailing labels for Christmas.

“So, How are you doing?”

The best I can.

Image modified from fables.wikia.com