It has been 10 days since I was put under anesthesia to have my uterus (otherwise known as “DeVos”) and two hemorrhoids (“Trump” and “Pence”) removed.
The surgeries were done by two different doctors who took the time to coordinate their surgical schedules in order to tag team the bottom half of my body. Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to have a blowtorch up your ass? If so, you’ve come to the right place because I am here to educate.
Ten days is how long it took for me to feel well enough to sit upright long enough to type out my experience. Until today, communication has been limited.
Someone:“How are you doing?”
Me: “Broken glass. Barbed wire. Blow torch.”
That’s when they usually reply back with something like, “Oh … that bad, huh?” and I respond with:
My doctor did not exaggerate. This really is the worst thing I have ever lived through. I can’t say for sure yet if it was worth it or not. I genuinely hope so, for the sake of my sanity.
A customer service representative from the hospital system called to ask me a series of questions. First, she wanted to know if the incisions from the laparoscopic removal of my uterus were healing okay.
“Listen,” I told her. “My hysterectomy was like, nothing. I haven’t been bothered by that surgery at all. But lemme tell you — I don’t know what all you can see on your screen, but I also had an asshole repair at the same time.”
She started laughing.
“MY ASSHOLE is oozing. My ASSHOLE is not okay. I am so consumed with pain from MY ASSHOLE that I’ve barely even noticed that I’m missing an organ.”
“I know, Mrs. Hobbs — that surgery is a really bad one,” she said, before going on to remind me that sitz baths really are the best thing I could possibly do for my recovery.
Um … sitz baths are literally all I do now. If I am forming cohesive thoughts, it’s because I’m parked in a tub full of scalding hot water. The heat burns and then numbs and as soon as the water cools I drain the tub and fill it up again. Kids can be screaming, beating on the door, sticking their fingers through the cracks, whatever — I ain’t coming out.
Luckily, I’ve had a ton of help. I am so enormously grateful. If you are thinking about having a hemorrhoidectomy, make sure that you have 24/7 childcare lined up. I thought postpartum support was the most important thing ever, until I had Trump and Pence removed and experienced pain so intense that I saw stars, cried, and dry heaved, WHILE ON NARCOTICS.
About the drugs: I’m taking them.
There is so much more material here, so much more to say, but unfortunately, I can’t sit any longer. So until next time, goodbye and take care of your butt so that you never, ever, ever have to experience this brand of hell.
P.S. Are you wondering what got me here in the first place? Here’s a brief synopsis.