Sunday, June 9, 2013

Guest Blog By Winebird

Emancipation Operation

Freedom comes. Liberty waits just around the corner. Shackles and chains I've worn for years are about to be struck open, cut apart.

It's been a long road, but the destination is in sight. I'm scheduled for a hysterectomy.

Thursday I went to see my doctor. Again, for the first time. Again, because I've been trying for years to convince assorted doctors that I don't want kids, never want kids, dislike kids, and ick! None would listen. "You're too young," they said at 20, and were still saying at 30. "It isn't medically necessary," they said at 35. "Here, try these pills," they said at 40. And it's for the first time, because this particular doctor I hadn't ever seen before.

I went there fully expecting to fight for the knife. My arguments were ready, and I reviewed them in my head during my morning and as I drove to the doctor's. I reviewed them as I sat in the doctor's office and waited. I reviewed them as I sat in the examination room and waited. I reviewed them after that first person (who is that, anyway) came into the exam room, asked me personal questions about my cycles and sexuality, and left.

My big moment came and went without so much as a sigh.

"Hmmm," the doctor said, as she examined me. "Wow. Your uterus is the size it would be were you four months pregnant. Hmmm." She looked up at me. "You need a hysterectomy." The expression on her face was prepared for an argument. She knew I would protest, scream and wail and pull my hair.

I said, "Okay."

I'd never had to use a single one of my reasons.

After that it was assembly line precision. Get dressed, then see Judy.

I was out hunting for Judy before Judy was ready for me. When can I be scheduled, huh? Huh? When? I think she was taken aback by my eagerness. In trying to explain, I think she may have doubted my sanity. "I've wanted one of these since I was six," I told her. I'm sure the joy was radiating from me so intensely they could have used me instead of the x-ray machine. "Ever since I found out Barbie dolls had babies and Ken dolls didn't. None of that baby stuff for me!" Her
eyebrows twitched, but no other expression crossed Judy's face. No doubt she'd thought she'd seen it all until I showed up. Perhaps my eagerness was a perversion to her the-uterus-is-my-womanhood-and-therefore-me opinion. Or perhaps she simply hadn't had her coffee yet.

How soon? Within a month.

In my excitement, I told some folk. A very few knew my desires and were happy with me. Most, though, ah, most looked at me with the most woeful expressions. "Oh, I'm sorry," they'd say, looking as if I was to be executed in the morning for a crime I didn't commit. No, no, be happy with me!

Now that it's had time to sink in, I've realized some complications. I will be off work for six to eight weeks. Everything I'm currently working on, everything I normally do which will fall into that time
period, these need to be finished or transferred to someone else. And soon! I've started a list so I won't lose anything.

Tracker was supposed to start obedience training in May, but that can't happen. If I wait to start him afterward, he'll then be six or seven months old. If I start him now, we won't finish the class by the
surgery date. I'm investigating options.

I run an email list, and it's pretty active, plus there's a required posting from me every Friday. I've got this one covered already.

With every obstacle I've thought of so far under control or getting there, I'm starting to feel the joy again. At last! At last!

Freedom comes. Liberty waits just around the corner. Shackles and chains I've worn for years are about to be struck open, cut apart.

Copyright 2013 Michelle Hakala



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