Four Places

Mama, they cut me in four places.

There was always the hope of something small growing in, but the day my belly was cut something big was pulled out, and I'm slowly resigning myself to that empty space.

One day I'll tell you everything about the months and months of injections, pills, procedures, and follow-ups for the miracle that never showed. What did come was a giant mass, an actual tumour taking up space that was meant for someone else.

One doctor told me that I should let it be, watch for symptoms, and decide on what to do later. Another doctor let the word "hysterectomy" fly from their mouths before actually examining me, letting their eyes rest on my bare ring finger. I saw a few more specialists and let time pass, unsure of what to do or who to talk to. When my palm became too used to resting on the mound growing behind my navel, mocking the identity I was really going for, I had to make a decision.

For all the time I spent taking off my clothes, putting on paper gowns, and offering my right arm for the good vein, this was not the surgery I had hoped for. I went alone to the Ann and Jules Gottleib Women's Health Center in Manhasset on the morning of GP's 89th birthday. I called her from the waiting room with a story about being out of town for work and waited for someone to beckon me down a long white hall. When I was stretched out in the chilly operating room, some tears escaped and pooled in my right ear. The doctor kept a blank face as she tapped my shoulder in what I assume was meant to be comfort while the nurse tied a tourniquet onto my arm. I willed my fear into vapor as the anaesthesia took effect and when I woke, I was not at all surprised to find that it was raining. I heard the patter of my sadness against the window before I could open my eyes. I heard the nurses saying my name before my mouth could move to respond. I thought I heard my grandma Marthe talking to me amid the sound of doors opening and closing, footsteps, and machinery beeping. I held on to the sound of her voice until I was finally awake and saw that it was another woman patting my arm, touching my face, asking me if I was all right.

They made four holes in me, Mama. One below for the air tube that stretched my belly so very wide to clear their line of sight. One on either side for the metal tools required to chop the tumor into moveable pieces. One right through my belly button, opening wide enough to pull all those pieces out.

In recovery, I was patient and I took my time. As I walked in circles dragging the IV stand, I thought about the names I had chosen and had hoped to hear come out of your mouth in your singing tone. I imagined your fingers squeezing around new soft flesh, bouncing in a bundle in your arms, watching you exchange breath and energy with a piece of me renewing a piece of you.

When I got home to convalesce, I dug a hole. I put into it those names that you didn't get to say in this plane. I poured into it imagined memories and future narratives that I think would have made a difference for you. When the right time comes, I will pour your ashes into that hole. You, one boy, one girl, and one unknown spirit will live together in a place I can only conjure, and write about over and over again.

One day I'll tell you everything, Mama. So far, this is all I've got.

#mother #fibroid #hysterectomy #womenshealth #ivf #reproductivehealth