Not dying. At least that's the general conclusion of my OBGYN. But my uterus has met the end of its purpose, as has my left ovary. Surgery is still yet to be scheduled, but I've been told to expect a date with the scalpel within the next four to six weeks, and then an anticipated four to six weeks recovery.
I take bike rides, hikes, long walks, lift light weights. Prepare, so as not to backslide too significantly during my bedrest. I pushed the doctor for how soon I could start moving again, and was told a week at the earliest as long as no bleeding occurs.
My baby son is now a teen. Although I've long felt a deep, subjective belief that I should have borne two more, the four wonderful humans I did bring into the world are enough. I'm too old and too lacking in energy to think of more children anyway. At least not my own. Sometimes I think those two others comprise humanity at large, and I stretch myself to mother everyone in need. But perhaps those two are the child I was and the woman I am, who are both still completely hungered for nurturing. Who's to say? The truth is, this removal of blighted organs is welcome relief. I've battled the black box of my body for months wondering what was wrong, why I was changing, not myself. Sometimes we must root out the disease to be our best possible selves.
And by "sometimes" I mean always.