I know to expect the following; a vaginal exam, a pap smear, and my scar gets a review.
I never really thought I would ever blog about these things, but here I am talking all about my girly bits.
So, as I lay on that table-formerly-a-chair, I asked him what he had done with my ovaries. He explained that he had tied them down to a ligament. He followed up by explaining that they are about 3 cm lower than where they used to be. he added that they should continue to function as long as they normally would. My ovaries were not left to roll around. Nor were they hung up on my ribs like a disco ball.
I told him my story was better. He laughed and said he thought so too.
I am still reflecting a lot on gratitude. It is hard to properly express gratitude to people in this experience. Gratitude, it seems, is my lesson that is still being developed in this experience.
On The Facebook today, I came across an essay on suffering and gratitude. There was something intense to ponder in the message. And the message was made moreso when the essay ended with this message:
I am grateful for your hair, the beauty of your eyes, your way with words, your heart that always is ready to give, your willingness to grow, your willingness to not know, the way you garden, naked, early in the morning, your love of family, your love of wine, your love of Scrabble, your glass-half-full ways, your love for your son, your belief in God, your belief in the power of poetry, your belief in the power of love, your Catholic ways, your love of your mother, your love of Mother Divine, your pale white skin, your lips, your smile, the way you love your friends, the way you love. (Source)
It appears that little piece was about a woman named Adele. I believe Adele is pictured at the bottom of the page in source link. That part, though, touched on some of the things that people comment about me or that I feel about me. In some divine sense, I want to believe that I was meant to see it. And to relish this sisterhood I share with this woman named Adele.