After years of monthly migraines and cervical spasms, months of night sweats and periods when I'd least expect them, I decided, along with my wonderful, decade-younger-than-I gynecologist, to have a hysterectomy. Euphemistically known as surgical menopause.
The reaction to the news of my women friends fell into three categories: 1) "Oh, poor you, I'm so sad your disability caused you to come to this". 2) "Really? I've been considering it, but wasn't sure whether to do it or not." 3) "Had it. It's the best decision you'll ever make."
The first response generally came from women under 45 who have yet to experience their first mood swing or hot flash. The second response came from women between 45 and 50 who were in the process of making The Big Decision due to physical or emotional duress. It was always a bonding experience. The third response came from my trusted FoFs - Friends over Fifty - who laid out for me the dream world that would follow about six months down the road from my surgery.
Not that I think I'm superwoman, but I allowed myself one whole week to recover before returning to work. Everyone - my doctor and my FoFs - told me that it would take a full eight weeks. Did I believe them? Absolutely not. And what was my recovery like?
My first week I felt like I'd been hit by truck. If I walked much farther than from the bed to the bathroom I was exhausted - probably from the sheer weight of carrying around the catheter bag. When I wasn't sleeping, I was napping. When I wasn't napping I was watching television and I didn't much care what it was. (Well, except for Jerry Springer. Even in the throes of surgical pain I still couldn't stomach "My mom was a lap dancer, my dad built computer chips - and I'm in love with my therapist.") Two of my FoFs came over to babysit because we all knew my significant other, Steve, while sympathetic, would have no clue about what I would be going through. They were angels. They fed me, put up with my whining, helped me walk to the bathroom to empty the bag, and, in general, empathized and made me laugh. Which, by the way, I don't recommend. It hurts during the first week.
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