Author’s Note: Told with permission. Nay, with encouragement. And it probably needs a trigger warning for horrible…medical…um…good god, I don’t even know.
So I have been having the week that will not die. Kevin had food poisoning, then I put him on a plane, then I had mega food poisoning, then I laid around for a day or two recuperating and by the time I could stay upright without lunging for the bathroom, Brandon the border collie was ill and I had to maneuver an elderly 75lb dog with bad hips into a car, a feat made (just barely) possible by all that mulch I throw around, and then I got home with Brandon and maneuvered him into the house to discover that the beagle had a limp, which meant I spent all day at the vet today.*
But this pales. Pales, I say! In comparison to what happened some days ago.
I received a text from my mother.
It said—I have it before me now—
“Still blizzards and extreme windchill and today my uterus fell out.”
No, go back and re-read it.
It is worth noting that this tells you a lot about my mother, and also about the weather in Upper Peninsula Michigan, which is so dire that it gets mentioned first. (Or maybe that’s just my mother. The windchill would need to be measured in Kelvin before I mentioned that first.)
My reply was…well…honestly, I gotta say, there’s only so many things you can say to this statement.
MOM: Also have been walking around with another infection for months
ME: GO BACK TO THE UTERUS
MOM: Yep. It’s still attached, but now I know what it looks like.
ME: …please tell me you’re messing with me and this is not a thing that happens.
MOM: Went to the doctor who was somewhat shocked. Says I need surgery.
ME: OH SWEET JESUS
ME: Get the surgery! I will pay for it! Oh god!
MOM: It does actually happen. If you google it you will be totally grossed out.**
ME: Excuse me, I have to go get a total hysterectomy right now.
Mom informed me that she was going to pick up my kid brother, and suddenly a thought occurred to me. It was a bad thought. It was a bad thought that became what is, possibly, the most unfortunate string of words I have ever had to type together in one place.
ME: MOM WHERE IS YOUR UTERUS NOW
ME: OH GOD WHY DID I JUST HAVE TO TYPE THAT PHRASE OH GOD OH GOD
MOM: I shoved it back it. It seems to be staying put for now.
MOM: It’s really much more inconvenient than painful.
There is another gap here, where I seem to recall wandering the kitchen making mewling noises like a baby raccoon that has fallen out of a tree and then perhaps been forced to read the collected works of the Nihilist philosophers
Eventually I rallied.
ME: I really want to be supportive right now, but I also need to drink until I do not remember this conversation, so I am conflicted.
At this point, I sought the comfort of several female friends, who largely reacted by going into the shower and sobbing and scrubbing themselves with steel wool, but my buddy Otter looked it up for me in between rocking and sobbing and determined that yes, this is actually a thing that happens.
(I am so sorry, readers, to inform you of this. Truly. But also glad that I am not suffering this knowledge alone.)
It is also–har har–hereditary.
Childbirth is the major contributing factor, thankfully, so I am probably in the clear. (Otter suggests I also avoid coughing for the rest of my natural life, and probably sneezing if I can help it.)
MOM: Also, if you are of Northern European descent, that makes it more likely.
ME: Excuse me while my cervix builds a moat and puts bars on the windows.
MOM: Thank you for making me laugh! Although I don’t want to laugh too hard…
MOM: Nooo, too much laughing NOOOOO!
ME: Go watch Dr. Zhivago or something! Don’t laugh!
ME: AAAUGH OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD
MOM: Just kidding. Well, about that bit, not about the rest of it.
Yes, dear reader, that bit was my mother trolling me. Very successfully, might I add.
Anyway. If you don’t want to google “uterine prolapse” (and Jesus, why would you?) it happens. It just sort of…falls forward and outward. There are a couple of methods of fixing it, most involving hysterectomy and a few involving silicone inserts. My mother goes in for surgery when her insurance okays things.
She is also in no pain, thinks it’s funny–now–and adds that uteruses are astonishingly small. And was happy to have me blog about it. So. Um. Picture the “More You Know” rainbow going behind this post.
It’s been a rough week, I won’t lie, but this is arguably the single most wildly bizarre thing in it.
2015. Off to a helluva start. For everybody in the family.
*Official diagnosis: The beagle was so upset that Brandon got to ride in the car and he didn’t that he tore around having hysterics, popped his patella out, and then popped it back in. He got his car ride, and also a nail trim and painkillers. Brandon got lots and lots of painkillers. I? Did not get painkillers. I got Pepto-Bismol. The universe is deeply flawed.
**She is not lying.