It’s been less than two weeks since my Hysterectomy, and I have to say I’m feeling pretty fabulous! I honestly didn’t know what to expect and I suppose I was preparing myself for the worst. However, the Medical Community has really got their groove on when it comes to performing this surgery, because I felt practically 95% normal by day 5/6. What a blessing!
One aspect of my hospital stay that I wasn’t prepared for, was being placed in the Postpartum Unit for my recovery. I suppose it made sense, since I had undergone a gynecological procedure, but was unprepared mentally, nonetheless. It seemed a bit cruel (unbeknownst to anyone), given the fact that my hysterectomy was taking place the same week our Adopting Family underwent a frozen transfer. I didn’t want the environment that I had to spend time recovering in to be 24/7 newborn city. After all, I just had the ultimate fertility organ removed from my body. Was it really necessary to be reminded that I could no longer do what every other woman on that floor could? Couldn’t I just shack up in the same room with an elderly gentleman who had just gotten his Gallbladder taken out? What about the broom closet, was it available? It sure looked better than having to endure emotional pain on top of physical pain.
Then it happened. I could hear the cries of a sweet newborn next door to us. Sigh. I thought “So this is what I’m going to have to listen to, great!” I had to recover in a unit with no newborn baby, no isolette, no sweet, little white t-shirts that contain the smell that only a newborn can emit, no newborn diapers, no breastfeeding, and no visitors to come and see our sweet bundle of joy. I just laid there and took in the very distinct noises of a Mom, Dad, and their newborn baby. It felt a bit like I was experiencing infertility all over again, and in my book, no one should have to endure such a thing twice in their lifetime.
Later that night, I was finally allowed to take a walk in the hallway. I was so excited to get out of that hard bed, but took a deep breath before I exited my room’s door, as I knew what scenery I would be taking in. So, my sweet husband took my hand and we began to walk. As we got around the corner, we realized we were in the same unit where we had delivered our girls and son. It was a bit surreal. The memories of my own children as newborns began to come flooding in. It made me realize how quickly, in the snap of a finger, that that phase of their life goes by. If you’ve ever seen a movie where they show a person’s entire life experiences quickly passing by in a matter of seconds, that’s how I felt in that moment.
As we continued to stroll, I reluctantly began to reminisce about our previous stay. We saw the scale I weighed myself on one day after delivering our girls, a hospital grade breast pump, clean isolette’s made up for the new babies coming into the unit, baby diapers, a proud Daddy getting his baby from the nursery, and a Mother walking for the first time since she had her c-section. I felt overwhelmed and out of place and the tears just started to come. Instead of fighting back the tears, which is my normal response, I let them come as they may and made a decision to embrace that moment.
I won’t lie - I wanted to be mad. I wanted to demand to be placed into a regular recovery room where I didn’t have to be reminded of a newborn phase that I would never experience again. But then it dawned on me…..”This is a gift, Sheila.” I thought “Wait a minute, a gift?” Surely that thought had not just crossed my mind. Was having all this baby stuff shoved down my throat really a gift? I reckoned it to the times I had to endure baby showers whilst dealing with infertility. Surely I had not just thought of the word “GIFT!” Then I realized that yes, this was a gift and I needed to embrace it. There would never be another time in my life where I would get to personally experience and embrace this floor again. I had the chance to freely walk about and take in a place where my husband and I had received so much joy.
And, so I did. I walked around those halls with a renewed attitude and tried to memorize little bits and pieces that I couldn’t have possibly remembered before, due to the exhaustion of having two, little ones. Yes, I took it all in. God knew I needed this and I feel he orchestrated my stay in the hospital this very way, so I could have one more chance. I can’t fully explain what it did for me, but it felt like a piece of validation in a journey where there is little to be had. I was merited one more chance to take in something that I once took for granted……something I would never experience again. It felt amazing.
Right before I left, there was a tiny, newborn girl who was hanging out in the nurses station, as I passed by. I asked if I could take a quick peak. She looked so sweet with her little button nose and then I realized from her birth tag that she weighed the same as our Brookie……6 pounds & 13 ounces. I took her presence in for a moment and marveled at her. It was all I needed. Before I left her side, I took a deep breath in and felt as though I had been touched by the hand of God and realized that he cared about all the pain I had endured for the last year and a half.
The gift that I first mistook for a curse, turned out to be the biggst blessing of all and much healing took place in the short 32 hours I was there. It dawned on me that I was there for more than just a hysterectomy. I was there to get over one more painful hurdle and impediment in my journey with Embryo Adoption. Above all else, I came to realize that I was there in that very moment to receive CLOSURE. My husband and I intentionally shut the door on our ability to ever experience a pregnancy, a precious newborn, and all that goes with those very sweet moments in life that cannot be compared to any other. Yes, closure is what I needed and closure is exactly what I willingly received.
If you’re faced with a hurdle to overcome in your own journey, I pray you have the strength and resiliance to climb over it and get on the other side. What’s on the other side you ask? Peace and a sense that everything’s going to be alright. Closure.
Blessings,
Sheila