I'm not really scared, or worried, or in conflict. I've had my period since the end of August. Enough, all ready. So I went to the doc's today, and we've decided next Wednesday at noon. Like a showdown (key the music to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly....wah-wah-wahhhhh). The knitter in me wonders about the difference between a centimeter and a "sonometer", spoken in a snotty doctor voice. I have to go look that up. The average uterus has a capacity of 80 grams. Mine has one of 600. Damn, THAT's a lot of yarn. That's a freaking sweater.
As I leave the office, my husband calls, and admits he is absolutely ignorant of everything. I try to explain that it will take longer to heal if they splay me open like that frog in biology. So he gets it, but isn't too scared.
On my way to Wallyworld, I start making that mental list of things that have to happen before I go to the hospital Wednesday. Mailing a package to Japan is on that list. Later, as I careen down the aisle with some FABULOUS pears, some pork chops (yum!!) and a squash, I hear my mom's voice. She tells me the story of how her mother got up one morning, got cleaned up and fixed her hair, and went to the hospital to have a baby. And she didn't come home.
The first time I heard this, I was to young or immature to know what to say. Now, I think "oh, no, that sucked" in the truest, realest, original sense of the phrase. And I am not worried at all about myself, but am sad because of a woman whose picture I have never seen. And I won't tell DH, because he won't know what to say.
Still, no comments allowed.