Cafe Hitch-hike

2022-02-18

My body is singing me a chorus

So the surgeon sent me to see my doctor to be sure I was physically clear for surgery in just over 2 weeks. The appointment itself was normal, but the doc and nurse were puzzled that the surgeon wanted me to get a chest x-ray and an EKG. They said I was awfully young to need one and especially because they said I was healthy. Thankfully, I was able to get most tests done at the doc's office or in their complex, but I needed to get the chest x-ray elsewhere since the one in their complex was down.

I suppose this is my foray into upper middle age: tests, prods, scans, and blood drawn. I had to see another specialist last week because of some abnormal things. They even took a biopsy from a painful place. At least this didn't appear to be part of a larger or chronic condition, it was just plain age-related or from scar tissue from a previous infection or injury. I've taken good care of myself for most of my life and now parts of my body are singing me a chorus of 'we're tired,' 'we're not 20 anymore,' 'fuck you,' or all of the above.

Well gee, maybe that's why I've been tired for quite some time. My body has been changing. This perimenopause shit has been a serious bitch, just like when I started my menses. But, at least we know for sure none of the problems are cancer. It makes me think of my college classmate Greta who was a returning student in her mid-40s. She told me she was having issue with mood and pain and didn't know what to make of it. Now I think I know what it was, the same crap I'm looking at. Our bodies were making the transition, and it wasn't pleasant.

There's the possibility of what I jokingly called the nuclear option and to get everything except for the essential female internal organs removed. I've had 2 sisters do that, and just about every woman I've met were 100% glad they did it. It makes me remember a female cook I used to work with in a dorm cafeteria. She was angry and in such bad moods about a month or 2 before her hysterectomy. I just remember working in the bright kitchen at the end of winter, and hearing classic rock music and her scowls and outbursts. Thankfully, the kitchen crew was extremely understanding of it. She was gone for a month and seemed much better after she returned. The Jamaican nurse in my doc's office talked me to me about that and warned me to not let myself be 'the doctor's guinea pig' for too long or if they give piecemeal treatments that don't seem to work.

I talked to my mentor about the upcoming surgery and he was concerned about the pain and the recovery. Although the surgeon talked about it like no big deal, the mentor said he has a friend who went through the same procedure. He told me to be cautious about it and to have someone around for the first 2 or 3 days. Have someone around to help me? There's a novel thought. I suppose I can ask Rafael and a neighbor or 2 to check in. Hopefully it's not a big deal like the surgeon said but the mentor thought the surgeon oversimplified the whole thing.

My morale feels a little low from this transition. I totally cry because perhaps a bit of this is how hard I've driven my body for so long, or how I overlooked so many physical pains to soldier through or to get me to where I felt I needed to go (or, maybe had to go). I even wonder if my emotional or mental pain contributed. I can't help but wonder all of these things or if it's my personal version of aging.

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