Hospital visits and perspective

As I sit on the eve of yet another hospital visit, before the second of a ‘surgical procedure’, which is no more than a 20 minute sedated nap to avoid awkwardness between doc and I, my mind starts to think back over the years and all we’ve been through, and to the first time I went in for a similar op.

3 years ago, I had yet another thing that so many women have, but that none of us seem to talk about openly – a hysteroscopy and laparoscopy**. It was so close to the start of this journey. I went to sleep with a nervous anticipation and woke up excited that surely, the problem would be in the results. The solution would be at the hands of our doctors. I was filled with hope. Blind faith. That moment I opened my eyes, would be the new beginning, all would be solved, and we could get on with our lives and head into parenthood at last. (And my bestest and I would be pregnant at the same time with our first child!)

As the story goes, however, she has since had two kids. And I have no solutions.

I have no blind hope in tomorrow’s surgery ending in pregnancy or resolved issues. That is not why I’m going in. I’m no more excited than I am indifferent to the outcome of the Williams vs Asarenka tennis match on TV right now. I am scared. And I am nervous. Mostly because I am not a fan of hospitals in the least. Also, and more importantly, because I hope that tomorrow’s verdict is one of health and a long life ahead. This isn’t about having a baby, or not having a baby (although, maybe it always is). This is just about living a happy long life with someone I promised to do that with.

**this surgical procedures should really be spoken about more often. We all land up with similar stories, and they’re horrendous. The gas behind your collar bone (where you’re convinced you’re having a heart-attack. What is that?). The bloatedness. The +7kg scale crisis when you come home from the hospital. Jeepers, I wish someone had told me. Yes. I realise I could’ve googled what I was in for too. 

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