#21 What I Wish I Had Known Before Surgery

Thoughts on major abdominal surgery, one year later. Also: Valentine ideas for your sweeties, Girl Scout cookie season, and a reminder: don't believe him.

⭕️ Some homemade Valentine inspiration by way of The Met.¹

⭕️ 31 Days Without Amazon An experimental dissection of the ways in which our brains have been rewired to buy first and consider alternatives second.²

⭕️ Troop 6000’s Digital Cookie Store It’s Girl Scout cookie season! You can use this Cookie Finder to see where cookies are being sold in your neighborhood, or purchase online and support a unique troop that serves Girl Scouts living in the NYC shelter system.³

⭕️ Don’t Believe Him Ezra Klein on the limited powers of the presidency. A reminder that if we believe Trump is already king, we’ll be likelier to let him govern as a king. (Gift Link).⁴

One year out from abdominal surgery

I suppose this post should come with a sort of content disclaimer. I’m talking about recovering from surgery today, and also periods. If either of those topics feel squeamish, see you next week!

A little over a year ago, at the end of January, I had an open myomectomy to remove a large fibroid that was growing on my uterus — and ruining my life.

The signs, which took me way too long to realize were the signs, included: absurdly heavy periods and large (fist-sized) clots, severe cramping in my abdomen, back, and legs, deep fatigue (due to blood loss), depression and mood swings, weight gain in the belly, and frequent urination. This episode of 28ish Days Later from BBC Radio 4 gets into fibroids, in a surprisingly lovely way. The whole podcast series is worth a listen.

Once we finally determined what was going on (by way of ultrasound), it took almost three months to get a surgery date scheduled. I used this time to deploy all of my anxiety coping mechanisms and attempt to prepare my way out of any possible negative eventuality.

Long bendy pillow purchased for sleep support; still loved and used every night.

I filled the freezer with congee and healing soups (even though a friend had set up a meal train and all the slots were fully accounted for by our community). I bought a supportive belly pillow, similar to the long bolsters pregnant people use. I stocked up on smooth move tea and acetaminophin and a large soft ice pack. I applied for six weeks of Paid Leave Oregon benefits, following all the steps to ensure we’d have income for my recommended recovery period. I washed all the couch cushions and deep cleaned the rooms I’d be spending most of my time in, knowing it would be awhile before I could physically handle this on my own again. And I packed my overnight bag with chargers and soft socks and a lap pillow for the drive home.

All of those things were useful, but they added up to something that was not helpful at all: they made me think that I was fully set for a easeful recovery. And it was anything but easy.