I don't wanna talk about it.

But it seems like I have to. I've been putting it off. I'd rather just talk about my latest obsession; the BBC shows "Merlin" and "Sherlock", or tell you about how my Pastor hates "fish-breathed, fur ball vomiting house cats" (yes, that is a direct quote) or maybe about how long my hair is now, or something cute about Da Boy. But no .. it's time I get this off my .... well, chest ain't the right word... Soul? Heart? Mind? 


On January 9th, I had a hysterectomy. They took my uterus, left my ovaries, and burned off the Endometriosis. <---- That word right there just echos in my head everytime I say it or think it. ENDO....ENDo...ENdo...Endo...endo......


I am still recovering. Well, my body is recovering. Me, I'm not so sure about. 

 "You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body." ♥ - C.S. Lewis (quoted from a friend on facebook) 

My body is recovering, quite nicely I think. My weight is down (how the hell much can an empty uterus weigh?!) to 124. My incisions are glued (they only did stitches on the inside) and although they sometimes still are painful, it's nothing I can't handle. I still am having a hard time bending down or walking very far (or fast) but hell, with my back that's nothing I'm not used to. I'm going to leave the rest out; and put it down as T.M.I. (trust me on this one, I feel bad enough that I've already told Mr. Man about so much).

The 'me' inside though - is changed - more than the physical; the scars, the pain, the bleeding, the bullshit. A small example of what I mean....

Last night, I cooked dinner. Simple, easy, no big thing, Hamburger Helper Stroganoff. As I dumped the raw ground beef into the pan to brown it, I couldn't help but see the red, the uncooked, the raw ... the meat. All I could think about was my missing uterus. Where is it? What did they do with it? Stop Miranda (I said in my head) It's a COW, for Christ's sake! Yes, this is a cow... you're right. Cows are girls, oh my god, what if there is cow uterus in here??!  Knock it off! You are just making it worse, just cook the fucking meat and get it brown! I turned up the heat. Cooked it faster. It turned brown, looked just like hamburger (like what the hell else should it look like?!). No problemo. I pulled myself together and continued cooking. Served dinner and sat down to eat. Mr. Man and I prayed and as I took the first forkful into my mouth, I couldn't imagine that this was beef. I knew it was, but I couldn't accept it. Couldn't make myself believe it.

Oh holy fuck I can't eat this!!!

I tried. I really did, but after a few more bites, I pushed aside my plate and ate my french bread slice.


It's that kind of thing that sneaks up on me, unawares, and bites me in the brain. And now, even as I type these letters to close my entry, I can't stop thinking about that meat. And here I was, so proud of myself for chatting nicely with that (very) pregnant lady we saw last night (I even smiled) asking her when she is due, and did she know if it was a boy or a girl. (April 23rd, a girl, to be named Brooklyn Savannah)

...now do you see why I didn't wanna talk about it?

~M