Seth saw it in a jar after the surgeon removed it. I thought he's want to see it, since he's probably never seen an IUD. The surgeon offered to let me keep it. I declined.
Now that thing is out of my body, I feel like Frodo after he cast the ring of power into the fires of Mount Doom. A great weight is lifted. Or maybe that's just the after-effects of the anaesthesia.
Hospitals. Don't like them any better, but the experience was better than I expected. This was my third time within the walls of this particular hospital (once for Seth, twice for me), and the nurses and staff continued to be excellent. With the exception of the nurse who did all my paperwork in the OR prep room and had absolutely no appreciation for my special brand of smart ass humor.
I did better with the OR nurses and the anaesthesiologist, who all assured me I would be OUT COLD when all that horrific crap they were going to do to me happened (intubation, catheter, ugh. I almost think those things horrify me more in theory than the actual incisions.). They were going to dose me up with Propofol - that's right, the Michael Jackson anaethesia, the sleeping drug choice of overmedicated, oversurgeried, looney tunes celebrities everywhere. Well, if it's good enough for MJ....The OR nurse joked that we were starting happy hour, even though it was 10am. Another nurse said, hey, it's five somewhere, right? I said I thought it only had to be noon. Everyone was on board with that idea. Aaaaand that is the last thing I remember before swimming groggily to consciousness in the recovery room. Yeah. Propofol. Do not use at home, kids.
Now I'm spending a lazy day at home, while my in-laws chase the Olive around. Not in too much pain, mostly feeling like I way overdid it on an ab workout. The worst thing is that I'm still deflating. When they do this kind of surgery, they pump up your belly with CO2, like a balloon, so they can see in there and whisk away the foreign body. They can't get all the air out, and it just has to dissipate slowly, so I look and feel about 10 weeks pregnant, puffy and bloaty and burpy and farty and unable to button my jeans. Which is REALLY unfortunate since two pairs of Seven jeans that I got at an online trunk sale for super cheap arrived yesterday. It would be a....bad decision to try to put them on now, and might end in tears, so I'm going to stick to my yoga pants for today.
I think I feel less angry about reproduction. I'm not sure if the anger came out on that last post. There has been a lot. Bitter. Angry. That all I did was have a baby, the most normal thing in the world, and all I got was unwanted anxiety, hospitalization, and surgery. I was a statistic that I never wanted to be - C-section stat, one in thousands "lost" IUD stat. Love, love, love the baby of course (there are far too many sappy posts on the interwebs to prove that). Just not too crazy about the side effects.
But it's gone. It's really gone. And I don't have to imagine that stupid IUD floating around in there, waiting to perforate an organ or something. It is a weight lifted, a task done.
And wouldn't you know it, the Olive, the little monkey, slept for seven straight hours, woke up once, went easily back to sleep in her crib, and slept until 6:15. She actually slept the entire night in her own bed, something that hasn't happened all that much, both due to some cosleeping for survival and cosleeping because we just like it. Good post-op present, little monkey. You almost make me think I'd do it all again. Almost.
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