Yeah, I know, that is a variable title that pretty much sums up the present right now.

I have a surgery tomorrow, a hysterectomy. For someone who has never had surgery before, this is my second this year, the first being a cardiac ablation. Yes, Jesse literally and figuratively broke my heart. The hysterectomy, well, I am thankful that my medicine that I so love and have practiced for 20 years has kept me from surgery this long. But, there comes a time when you have to ask yourself, why am I fighting this, especially when I have made my deductible, lol?

There was a time after Jesse and Bella died where the thought crossed my mind of wanting/needing another baby. I of course was missing mine. When the intellectual brain kicked in, I of course knew I was barely taking care of myself and Oli, so that was not such a good idea. During the following years though, as I have gotten older, my ovaries have called out each month in the form of every baby I see during ovulation, I am like, hmm, maybe that is a good idea? Which is totally my hormones on a last hurrah to see if they still work. That being said, I have been asked several times if I am having an emotional reaction to this surgery in that way, a mourning of sorts of that ability to have another child. I honestly have mourned so many other things so damn much in my day to day, and the reality is, I had my two kids. After Bella, I had such severe post-partum depression and it was super hard on my body, at that point, I was like, no, I am good. Now, I am 45, yes, I “could” have a baby, but why? Again, I am still dealing with this grief and trauma, have a “decent” and workable handle on it, I am pretty sure adding a newborn to the mixture is not a good idea. I am actually thrilled and excited for it. I mean, no woman goes and has a hysterectomy for the hell of it, there is usually a very good reason to have one, which, once those issues go away, I am looking forward to a freedom that I have not had in a very long time.

I am going to mix it up and go to brain wonkiness. So, before you have a surgery, you bring in your list of things you are taking, and my list, has thyroid meds, which is my only western med, and a shit ton of supplements. These supplements not only work on my immune system, because well, constant stress is not good for that, but also to combat the effects of the trauma on my body. There are some for depression, some for cortisol, and some for neurotransmittor support. And aside from one for the neurotransmittors, I can’t take a single one before this surgery for a week. It is like telling someone to just stop their anti-depressant. I stopped last Wednesday. I have been through a roller coaster of emotions, on the edge of tears most moments, and had intrusive thoughts that are not pleasant. An example, hmm, maybe I will just not wake up from the anesthesia, that would be nice. To be clear, that is not what I want at all. If I had any doubts that these supplements were working, I don’t anymore. My full time job of caring for my “trauma body” has had to put in overtime this week. I am exhausted to say the least.

Which leads me to Christmas. Fucking Christmas. There are times of years where the loss of them, especially my sweet Maribella pierces my heart in a way that puts a vice grip on the pain. Her birthday is probably the number one that does that, Christmas is close behind. I can’t even, if I am honest. I am about to lose my shit just writing these words. I fucking miss her more than I can express. The never ending questions circulate, what would she be like? What would be on her list? What, what, fucking what? And then, fuck, shit, fuck again she is not here. You get the picture? The first year I put up my tree, I came across her stocking, to which I promptly fell to the floor sobbing and had to take my “heavy duty” stuff to get me out of that spiral, to which when I came across her ornaments, the tears numbly fell out of my eyes while I put them on the tree. Year two, almost the same, not “quite” as bad, but pretty bad. Year three and on, her stocking is hidden in the bottom and with her ornaments I have learned the art of disassociation so well, I actually sometimes just look at them wishing my body to feel, feel anything, and all there is is numbness. However, this year, her stocking peeked out from the bottom of the container, and I took it out. I looked at it for awhile, again, still in that disassociated place, tears numbly falling out without “feeling” behind them, and I placed it behind mine on the mantle.

So there you have it. The usual roller coaster with a surgery thrown in. I do say happy holidays to people, whatever you celebrate. However, I also realize that not all holidays are “happy.” In fact, for so so many people, there are not for whatever the reason. I see you and feel you all. The holidays are so mixed for me, my old self wanting to fight for its place in the celebration of friends and family together and the spirit of giving. My loss self is like fuck all that, I miss my daughter. So, instead, my hope for you all is that you are able to pass this time, these holidays, and surround yourself with loved ones, whether it be one, or many. For me, I have learned that to get through them, I honor both the past me and present.