Listening

Slipping the little blue paper cap over my headphones, I weave the black cord under the hospital gown. I will hide my CD walkman. I’m taking it in with me. I don’t care what they say.

“Every hand that touches me in the hospital is a healing hand and expresses only love. The operation goes quickly and easily and perfectly. I am totally comfortable at all times.”
-Louise Hay

I let out a breath.

My previous experience with gynecological surgeries has not been good. Two c-sections, both traumatic in their own way. Before that, a D & C due to a heartbreaking miscarriage; the fear of that surgery magnified because I worked in the same OR and knew every employee there. I’d seen unconscious women left up in stirrups, by “unconscious” OR staff, long after it was necessary. A woman’s private parts all out there, for any janitor, orderly or pharmacy tech delivering meds(me)to see.

Five years ago I had an IUD put in. We were in crises with Riley. Seth was a little baby. We did not want to get pregnant. There was no time to negotiate vasectomy. There was no time to think. The IUD was quick, easy, held little risk and could be removed in an office visit at any time. It was the perfect “for now” solution.

But it wasn’t perfect. The literature they gave me said two weeks after insertion, check to make sure the “strings” are in place.

I did.

They weren’t.

The "strings" are supposed to dangle out of the cervix, making that office visit removal a snap.

When I questioned my doctor, she tried to shame me.

“What were you doing fishing around up there anyway?”

“It said to check, on the directions you gave me.” I glared at her.

“Well, what happened is….your uterus has a funny shape, it’s kind of folded over, so it was really difficult to judge how long to cut the strings.”

Translation….your body is the problem.

“How old are you?” She asked.

“Thirty-four.”

She counted on her fingers, “34, 35, 36, …..well, the IUD is good for ten years, so you’ll be forty-four. By then it might be time for a hysterectomy anyway. Or I could take the IUD out, of course it would now have to be a surgical procedure, but I could reinsert another one.”

The thought of finding a baby-sitter for my screaming toddler was more overwhelming than the thought of a surgical procedure, though I knew for a fact I would never let that woman touch me again.

And so, the IUD has been with me for five years. Even though it screwed up my menstrual cycles, the benefits were worth it.

But recently my new friend Little Thyroid spoke up. The type of thyroid problem I have is auto-immune, and she asked, “Is it really a good idea to have a piece of plastic lodged in your uterus? I mean…is it good for your immune system to have a foreign body in there?”

She had a point. Time to get it out.

Little Thyroid is so smart. She has me doing all these self-love affirmations from Louise Hay and she’s vigilant about meditation. She does not put up with any of my self criticism. She just won’t tolerate it.

The nurse spotted the cord to my walkman and asked about it. She didn’t think it was allowed. My new doctor came in to talk with me, shaking her head.

“But you’ll be sleeping.” She said.

“I will still be hearing,” I countered.

Finally, the cool anesthesiologist gave me the green light.

“I’m going to give you something to help you relax.” She said. Cold sensation in my arm….music, my meditation music, plays in my ears and I think to myself,

“Every hand that touches me in the hospital is a healing hand and expresses only love. The operation goes quickly and easily and perfectly. I am totally comfortable at all times.”

I repeat the affirmation silently again. “Love” is the last word through as my lights go out.

Waking up in recovery, there are warm blankets on me. My doctor is at my side.

“What is that you were listening to?”

I smile and hand her the headphones, the music is still playing and she puts them on her ears.

She jots down the name of the CD and the artist.

“We should hire you to come teach meditation to everyone who passes through the OR.” She says. "You were so relaxed, it was amazing. We need more calm patients!”

“I want to see you in two weeks.” she says.

I stop her as she leaves,

“By the way…is my uterus odd shaped or folded over?”

She looks at me sideways and says slowly, “No? Why do you ask?

“Nevermind,” I tell her.

I put my headphones back on, close my eyes,

And Little Thyroid smiles.