Four weeks off work so far, to recover from my very odd and extreme surgical adventure. What was my vagina trying to tell me?
I'm just now starting to sort things out. Practical, tangible things I can understand.
Old cups and dishes, clothing hardly worn, shoes that don't fit anymore, old meds, old paperwork, dying plants, crappy CDs, and uninteresting books.
Sorting the videos and photos that were never organized, trying to fulfill promises that I made to myself and others to get the history recorded, get it down, get it all sorted out.
And still it eludes me. The one thing I can't seem to sort out. Why did this happen? How can I make peace with it? Where do I go from here if the surgery wasn't successful? Worst of all, where do I go from here if it was?
