My friend Nelly made me laugh the other day when she said that childbirth made her accept that she is an animal. You see Nelly, like myself is a head-dweller. We agreed that neither of us has ever felt particularly connected to our bodies. We were the girls who couldn’t tell the difference between period pain and wind. I for one have never had a clue as to why or when my body does most of the things it does.
I haven’t been laughing this week though, as I’ve struggled to pull myself back together after what I think would be regarded as minor surgery. I had an ovarian cyst dealt with. I say “dealt with” because I’m not exactly sure what happened while I was unconscious. I’m sure I got a pamphlet somewhere along the line, with diagrams and analogies, but somehow it got lost in my bag, or in the car, or in a book somewhere.
All I know is that I was perfectly relaxed before the surgery. I even managed a nice nap while awaiting my turn. Eventually I was wheeled into surgery, where I entered into a discussion with my female anaesthetist about Whitney’s tragic passing, as most women in the world were doing at the time. The next thing I knew a nurse was hovering over my face saying “You’re alright, you’re in recovery, you’re alright, you’re alright…oh she’s going to vomit.”
Apparently I didn’t vomit, but I’m very embarrassed all the same. I can’t even imagine what I must’ve looked like. I was completely freaked out, trying very hard to chill and go with the flow, to think my way through it all logically. I was trying to sleep, trying to stay awake, trying to focus on the endless strangers who’s faces hung over mine telling me what was happening next. Suddenly I thought of my father who had a heart attack and triple bypass surgery two years ago. In my haze I began to panic at the thought of ever having to go through anything like this again. “Why can’t I just be an animal?” I thought. Why can’t my brain just let my body deal with this instead of turning it into a terrible fear of something that may never happen?
