All posts by Jaylatgar


…I take back my story.
Letter to My Uncle…

Dear Uncle,
I have been carrying around so much anger towards you for over 22 years. I'm sure you have no idea what you did wrong, but I have hated you ever since. I don't want an apology, or for you to fix it, because frankly, it's too late for that. It won't do me any good, in fact, it will probably just add to my hurt. Your actions changed the course of my life forever, and you can't give that back. I am not writing this letter for you, I am writing it for me, so I can finally, hopefully, let go of this hatred that I have held for too long. Part of me hopes that you will spend the rest of your life with regret for the damage you caused, but I don't care enough about you to care if that really happens or not. I will never forgive your actions, but maybe now I can forgive myself for not being stronger.

22 years ago, you told our bishop, my great uncle, that I had gone and gotten myself pregnant. He then called me and the father into his office to chastise us and tell us we needed to get married or give the baby up. I don't know where you heard, and I don't care. I can only imagine, based on your actions, what you thought of me (as if you had any right to judge, based on your poor choices that landed you in legal trouble), but you had no right to tell your version of MY story to anyone else. That single act of telling someone something you had little facts about…changed my life in more ways than you will ever know.

Well, let me shed a little light. I was engaged to the father of that baby, but he was a monster. I thought I was in love, but I was wrong. It wasn't love that I felt for him, it was fear. My family, like you, thought so little of me my entire life. I could never live up to the greatness of my brothers. Mom never understood me, I was nothing but the problem child who needed to be controlled. After high school, I moved, well technically I was sent away, to live with my Aunt and Uncle, my dad's little sister, to help them care for their kids. I stayed there for a few months, but didn't earn the money I expected, or needed, to and was always asking mom for money to buy the things I needed. Another opportunity came up to help that uncles sister with their child. This would mean another move, but promised more money and time to work another job, so I took it. I watched their child as often as they needed me to, and got my first real job working at a gas station. I eventually quit that job and started working at a bowling alley cooking in their snack shop and babysitting kids in their drop in care.

The bowling alley is where I met JR. He was a handsome red head who said all the right things, and made me feel like a million bucks. He took me on adventures, taught me a little about cars, bought me things that made me feel pretty, taught me things my family never did. He was amazing. I moved home, and brought him with me. His family didn't much care for him, very similar to how my family felt about me. We bonded over that. For a couple of months, he lived with us in the old family home. He shared a room with my brothers and slept on the floor. He found a job close to home and would come home to see me every day. My friends became his friends. He proposed to me at my favorite restaurant. Everyone in my family was excited (maybe just excited to get rid of me, I don't know), but they all had their reservations about him. Shortly after we got engaged he started becoming emotionally abusive. I chalked it up to him being stressed at work, and thought it was my fault for not being a better fiancé. My family was emotionally, and physically abusive to me, so why should he be any different. The physical abuse started shortly after. Then came the sexual abuse. He would come home on his lunch break, when I was home alone, and he would demand sex, and when I would say no, I would get beaten. He would rape me and tell me he loved me. He would apologize for the beatings and the rape, and buy me flowers and tell me he was weak, and that it wouldn't happen again, but it did. Repeatedly. For months. Until I got sick. I had the flu and was constantly throwing up. My friend was worried because I wasn't getting any better, and after being sick for 3 or 4 weeks, my friend bought me a pregnancy test. It was positive. He told me I had to tell JR. My friend didn't know what JR was doing to me, and I didn't know how to tell him that I was scared and needed protection for me and my baby. I told JR, who immediately stormed out of my friends house. I didn't tell anyone else, so how you found out is a mystery to me. But you took it upon yourself to tell bishop your version of my story.

Do you realize what you did now? Can you see how that was not ok? Because of you, I was called in to my bishops office with my rapist! My attacker sitting next to me while my bishop, who listened to you, asked us what we were going to do! What the hell was I supposed to do? JR still lived with us. If I outed him as my attacker the beatings would get worse, and I couldn't jeopardize my innocent, unborn child regardless of how I got pregnant. Based on that farce of a meeting, I went to my mom and told her I was pregnant. But now that the rumor mill had started, anything I said to the contrary of your version of my story would've been seen as a lie. I had no support from my family, or protection from JR, and it was all because you had to start shit. JR moved back home with his family shortly after that meeting, and we "postponed the wedding indefinitely". My best friend from high school sent for me to visit her in California. She was the first person I told about everything. She was in the navy and introduced me to people and took me out to have fun to help keep my mind off of everything. I met a man who was nice, and didn't care that I was pregnant. He offered me a business proposition: marry him, his pay would increase which he would share with me, I would have military benefits for me and the baby, and before our first anniversary we would have the marriage annulled and we could go our separate ways as friends. Desperate and alone I jumped at the chance to get a head start at a life for me and the baby, and to have the support of someone through this. Before the baby was born my new husband came to me to tell me that he was falling in love with me and that he wanted to raise the baby as his own. I was on cloud nine! Life with him was rough from the beginning, but I was a romantic and naively believed that as long as we love each other we can make it through anything. He was a drug user, and I later found out he also made drugs in the apartment we shared. He was an alcoholic, and not a friendly one. He too became abusive. But without my families support I felt stuck. I couldn't call home and ask for help, because I was already a failure in their eyes. I couldn't stand the thought of me proving them right, again. So I stayed, and I suffered, hoping that one day his apologies would truly mean something.

My beautiful daughter was born, and I finally had someone in my life who needed me and truly loved me. Mom made plans to come visit, and I wanted her to see me being a good mom so she would be proud of me. With days until moms visit, my husband gave me an ultimatum: either the baby goes, or we both go. I wanted, more than anything, to keep my baby, but the only options I could see were to find a home for her, or be homeless with her knowing the state could come take her away because we were living on the streets. I figured it would better if I could pick her new family, rather than leaving that up to the state. I found a woman who wanted to adopt her, but found out she was lying to me about her life, so I kept looking. I called Uncle Wayne because I knew I could talk to him. I told him of my situation (about needing a home for my daughter), and I asked his advice. He asked me to give him some time and he would get back to me. He got back to me and I don't remember if they asked, or if I offered, but they agreed to adopt her. I called mom to tell her that I was placing my daughter for adoption, and as predicted, she got mad at me. I just could never do anything right. I was ruining her trip already, and it hadn't even started yet. But she came anyways. While visiting we came up with a game plan: mom would take the baby back to Oregon with her, and grandma would deliver the baby to Uncle Wayne when the legalities were figured out. I had made the most painful, life altering, and least selfish decision of my life, a decision I fully believe I would not have made had I had the support of my family, which you took away from me.

One month, one week, and day after giving birth to the light of my life, I said goodbye to her as mom drove away with her. I wanted to die. It would be over 8 years before I would finally get to see her again. I was a failure, just like everyone knew I would be. I convinced myself that I deserved whatever abuses I got, and I stayed with my husband. I stayed because I didn't deserve to be happy anymore. I was so desperate to fill the hole in my heart that I would beg my husband to get me pregnant. Regardless of the abuse towards me, I needed another baby, one I would not give away.

I finally got pregnant and had another baby. I was abused during the pregnancy but did what I could, short of leaving (because I believed him when he said he would kill me if I ever left) to protect the baby. I was pushed down stairs; burned with boiling water; emotionally, physically and sexually abused. I was depressed and sick after delivery, eventually needing an emergency surgery, but was still expected to do everything for him and the baby and keep a perfect house and do all the cooking. Unable to keep up with his demands, he took the baby and moved to his dad's house. I was alone, and desperate to get my baby back. I went to a judge with his violent history and the judge ordered the baby be returned to me. Still, when he came back I stayed with him. When J was just over 4 months old, he turned his attack on her. That was the day I found my strength. I packed up what I could carry of hers, and I walked from 11 pm until 3 am to get to the bus station. Grandma had bought me a one way ticket home. I had no money for food, just enough formula for the baby, and a 6 day bus trip ahead. I made it home, weak and ready for change. I told mom the whole truth, and I finally felt her support. J and I stayed with her until I could no longer stand living with her husband, and I got an apartment. A piece of shit place that backed up against an all night business with no insulation in between. I barely slept. I got a good job and started my new life. I went to visit that same friend from high school, and help her with her kids, when I re met Jay. We started dating and got married. To this day I still struggle with believing I deserve to be happy. I still struggle with feeling like a failure. I still struggle with knowing the consequences of my silence. I still struggle to know that I am strong enough to fight back now.

I do not blame you for my lack of strength or the decisions I made when I was weak, but I blame you for adding to the negative view that my family had of me, and for starting something you had no right to start. Because of what you did, by telling bishop your version of facts, you took away my ability to tell my mom the truth. I was planning on getting mom alone and telling her everything, and asking for her help, but you tainted my story. I have to live everyday knowing that I gave up my child because I was too weak and insecure to do whatever it took to keep her, and I have regretted it ever since. As one of the few father figures I had in my life that I thought I could trust, you were the one who I needed to be most wary about.

You're decision to put your own selfish need for drama and attention ahead of all else, sent my life into a tailspin. I have struggled to find peace ever since. I pity you, almost as much as I hate you. I pity you because clearly you were so unfulfilled in your own life, that you saw fit to meddle in mine. How sad for you. But I have to thank you. Because of you, I don't trust family members to stay out of my business. I know to protect myself from them and not allow them into my life more than necessary to maintain certain relationships. I was far from a perfect child, and I didn't deserve much, but I still had a right to my business, and my story, which you took from me. I truly hope you feel some level of regret, now that you know the truth it took me years to tell. I will always have hate in my heart for you, and regret my decisions, but at least now that the truth is out there, I can find the peace I've been missing.

Because I will protect my first born, at all costs, even though she is no longer legally mine, I will never be able to send this letter. I never want her to know the circumstances behind her conception. And I know I can never trust you to protect her, because to you, my story will always be whatever you want it to be.

Your niece.


Most of the people in my life…

…want me to be a quitter. But I'm not a quitter. I am a fighter. My life has become a constant battle to remain physically mobile, mentally alert, and to help others as much as I can. I fight these battles even though most people tell me to quit. They tell me I'm fine, but my body and mind are failing me, and I know it. They tell me to give up on helping someone because it's hard. Yes, it is hard, but it is also something I am, at least for the time being, capable of doing. I have cried every night so far since this adventure began. I have cried tears of frustration, tears of anger, tears of sorrow (because I really miss my family), and tears of pain. My body hurts so bad that I cry when I lay down to relax. It takes me so much longer to get out of bed, and my joints and muscles are stiff beyond belief. Getting dressed is painful as my range of motion lessens. Breathing is harder lately. I feel myself struggling to catch my breath on a regular basis, and reach for my inhaler often, which only makes the constant shaking worse. Still, I push through. I want to drink to ease the pain and calm my mind, but I know that drinking will not make it better, it may mask the pain and the emotions for a short time, but will not make them go away. I've thought about taking my pain meds, but they leave me feeling "off", and I need to be at 100% (or as close to it as I can be) to do all the driving and work that being here requires.

The work I'm doing is physically demanding, and most of the time I have not had help with setting up, which I must do every day I work. I have to go pick up a trailer, drive it to the market, unload everything, set up a booth, and start cooking while I wait for the other employee to show up. He is a great worker and is beyond helpful when he's there. The clean up is much better, because I have help, and we're getting pretty fast at it too. Yesterday we cleaned up and were ready to leave in about 40 minutes. That's way better than the hour and a half of the first night. Then I have to return the trailer, and then head to my camper. I get "home" any time from 9:30-midnight. I'm not making the money I need to make to have this work out, yet…but I have to believe that business will pick up soon. It has to. It would be easy for me to walk away and just say "Sorry, this isn't working out." But I'm not a quitter. If I walk away now, both my brother and I are out a lot of money, which is not something I can handle being responsible for. I don't want to let my brother down, and I don't want to let myself down. I know what I am capable of, and doing any less than that is unacceptable.

My emotions are trying to get the best of me. I need company, someone to talk to out here. It's lonely and gives me too much time to think. Ya know, when your thoughts tend to go to extremes and you start trying to reevaluate your life based on these extreme thoughts. Yup, not a place I should be going right now. I've been taking baby wipe baths, and driving around trying to find something to do that doesn't involve a lot of strangers (because I don't want to deal with strangers right now) but not having much luck.

I need a shower, a hike, and a friend. I wish I was more confident in my abilities, maybe then I'd be brave enough to try a hike alone. I know that I don't want to go somewhere where I won't be found if I get into trouble, but not knowing the area makes that a lot harder. As for the physical and emotional pain…I keep fighting…one minute at a time…one hour…one day. I draw, and write to escape my thoughts, and try to ignore the pain. I know I could be a lot worse off. My daily drives into town (where cell service is available) to call home both helps and hurts. They seem to be doing fine without me, which gets my mind going to those dark places again. I wonder if they need me anymore, if they want me around. I contemplate staying here. Not in the camper, but finding a second job, and renting a place just for me. I want to see the familiar face of someone who doesn't judge me. I have a very select few that fit that category, but none of them live here, and it's selfish of me to ask them to come see me, so I don't. I might drop hints (subtle or not), but I can't be upset if no one shows up. After all. I am the one who put myself in this situation. Still, the alone time and meager accommodations have made me more thankful for my family, friends, and modern conveniences.

Today was like…

…an emotional roller coaster. It’s Father’s Day, and I usually spend the whole day pretty sad missing, and thinking about, my dad and everything he’s missed out on, and everything I missed out on. But today was different. In fact, I didn’t get sad or teary until about an hour ago. I had other things on my mind. 

For the past few days I have been anxiously waiting for a childhood friend, Nicole, to make it to Vegas so I could drive down and see her. We met in 6th grade. We went to school together and were best friends, hanging out every chance we had. We bonded over the loss of our fathers, and our tough/harsh maternal figures, and NKOTB (what were we thinking?!?)…our lives were very similar back then, with some minor differences. The summer between 9th and 10th grade my family moved out of state. I hated my mom for making us move away (I had no concept of financial hardships at the time) and I vowed that I would make her so miserable that she would send me back “home”. Little did I know how devastating our move was to Nicole. We were inseparable, until our move separated us. We returned to our hometown for a visit the following summer. I don’t remember how long we were in town, but it wasn’t long enough. I was able to get in a visit with Nicole, and wanted to go back every year to visit her. Neither of us knew that we would not see each other again for 25 years. 

We lost contact after that visit. Many years passed and my mom contacted me to let me know that a letter had arrived at the family home for me from Nicole. I got the letter a few days later and responded. We wrote back and forth for a while, and talked on the phone occasionally…and then life happened. We lost contact again. I would occasionally look for her on Facebook, but didn’t have any luck. Just a few years ago she sent me a friend request. Life kept us both pretty busy, but we were better about keeping up with each other through Facebook. Our lives had taken parallel paths, both of us having many similar experiences, even our ex’s share the same first name (yes, I think all men that I have encountered with that first name have been asshats). We are both in a better place. 

I was so stressed out about seeing her today, the first time in 25 years, and I have changed a lot, I guessed that she did too. What if we don’t recognize each other? Which is kinda dumb because we see each other’s pictures on Facebook. What if she doesn’t like me anymore? What if I don’t like her anymore? What if we have nothing to talk about? J and I arrived at her hotel and she was coming down to meet us. As soon as we saw each other we smiled and hugged. It was so great to see her face light up, and I was put at ease. I couldn’t see myself, but I think I lit up too. We walked around trying to find a place to eat and talk. When we finally found a place we started talking like we were picking up where we left off. J said she heard Nicole say things and she thought to herself “That’s exactly what mom would say.”, and she’s right, it was what I would say. We talked about our kids and how both B and J were named after her. We talked about family and struggles and blessings and progress and church. An amazing visit, and the food was good too. We had to say goodbye too soon, but we both agreed to not go so long before seeing each other again. 

As J and I drove home I was replaying the visit and past things people have said to me about every friend I made after her. I have had some real doozies. I have picked some “real winners”. I suddenly came to the realization that I had never had a friend as true, loyal, reliable, understanding, compassionate…the list goes on…as she was to me. In every relationship there is some give and some take. For the majority of relationships I have had, there has always been more giving on my part and more taking on theirs, but not with Nicole. I think we both gave back as much, if not more, than we took. I cannot think of another friend who has been that way with me. 

Forward to an hour ago when I started texting my brothers to tell them happy Father’s Day, since I was traveling, catching up with Nicole, and having dinner with Jay and J, and by the time I got the chance to call the boys, it was too late. I got more emotional as I wrote each text. I made sure to let them know how much I look to up to each of them. I am sad that I don’t have the close relationships with them that I wish I had, and the ones I feel close to, I struggle with because of my emotional hurt. I have to find a healthy way to release grudges and hurts so I can move past the hurts. I miss my dad. I remember being a daddy’s girl. Maybe I remember right, and maybe I don’t, but I remember his love for me. I’m heartbroken, grateful and happy this Father’s Day. Happy Father’s Day to the many men in my life, present and past, who have had a positive impact on my life and the woman I’ve become. 

Life changes. Experiences change us. We change. Friends come and go from our lives. True friends may leave our lives, but reconnect as if no time has passed. True friends are selfless and love you for being you. I’m lucky enough to have one. 

Suddenly it’s a great idea to foster…

…because it’s his idea. I have been very vocal about my desire to have more kids, just as I have been very vocal about everything important in my life. When Jay came to me almost 2 months ago with the suggestion that we should become licensed foster parents my first thought was “Yes! Of course! Finally!” That night, I couldn’t sleep. The foster process is long and difficult, but in my mind totally worth it. I started to get angry. For years I have tried to have more kids, using donors, looking into adoption and fostering…but I felt so alone. Everything I tried, every step I took, I was alone. Growing our family was important to me, and it was painfully clear that it was important to only me. It was clearer with ever effort that he wasn’t a willing participant in any of my attempts. 

After my hysterectomy last November I worked hard to overcome the extreme depression I fell into almost immediately after surgery. It was so painful to accept that I will never again carry a baby inside me. It was even more difficult to accept that our family, as it is now, is only going to grow when our kids have kids of their own. We already have 2 grandbabies, and I love them so much, but I don’t think I feel the grandma connection to them that i probably should. They are his kids kids, and his kids don’t like me…I feel distance is better than yet another heartache…that is on me. I was finally finding happiness with our situation. Our youngest is 18, and will likely leave us soon, making us “empty nesters”. I was as ready for it as I could be. Then he suggests we retake the foster classes (we took them almost 6 years ago, and never finished the process) and get licensed.

I asked him the next day “Why now? Why not anytime over the last 13 years when I suggested it? Is this your way of keeping me from leaving?” He said that when he got the email from the regional guy with the class schedule for May, he felt like we should do it. And he said that if I still want to leave, he understands. But now I’m really mad. I have had dreams for years about a boy that is supposed to be my son, and I know his voice, his face, even his name. Wide awake and all alone I would hear him say “Mom”. I knew that he was helping me to remember that he is supposed to be with us. My personal revelation meant nothing to Jay for over 13 years! I was beginning to think I was going crazy. The dreams stopped months ago. I stopped hearing him call for me. Now when I am wide awake and all alone…I hear nothing but silence. 

I needed time to think. I didn’t know what to do. Suddenly that yearning to have another child was back, but the anger and utter disbelief that he would bring this up like it was his idea all along, had me in an internal tug of war. I went back and forth on the idea for days. I didn’t know what I would decide, although I knew immediately what I wanted to choose. The realization that we successfully co-parented our nephews and we’re able to work together was so clear. I had finally made up my mind. 

Our marriage is broken, but the one thing that makes us communicate, work together, and support each other is taking care of kids for someone else. When we had T, and R, we were able to be happier around each other and work better together. Fostering a child will not fix our relationship, and I’m not saying it will make things better because in all actuality it will add more stress to our family. But that fire inside me was reignited and I want another child. 

We took the classes. 32 hours of uncomfortable chairs, lectures, suggestions, ideas, stories, making new friends, growing our support system, asking lots of questions and not always getting clear answers. J even went to all the classes with us, which helped her too why T and R behaved the way they did. Jay and I made a deal. I would find a way to pay for licensing costs, and he would handle all of the paperwork. We are in the process and waiting for the next step. The decisions about which placements to take will be on all 3 of us. Our hope is to adopt, but if we can’t, being a temporary stop to help children who need us will be enough. 

I can’t put into words how strongly I feel that doing this is what I need. More importantly…it’s what the children who will come into our home need. I am at peace (at least I think I am) with whatever happens. Is divorce still on the table? Yes, kind of. More put on the back burner for now. Not because I’m finally getting what I want, but because I know what the possibilities are. 

“Why Do You Have To Be…

…such a fucking bitch?” That’s what hear muttered from the other side of the bathroom door. This after I stated a problem, looking for some acknowledgement, but instead got arguments. So I state the problem again, hoping it will be heard this time. Only to hear that question muttered outside the bathroom door. The stated problem was minor, but the issue of him being checked out and missing the majority of what I say, has been a long time issue. I, of course, confronted him on the question he had just asked, and was met with nothing but denial. Yesterday, I sat on the couch where he usually sits. There were loose staples on the couch and I asked where they all came from (even with a big butt, sitting on staples hurts). His response….I don’t know. More denial. I used the car to go across town (which he usually drives) and found a bunch of loose staples. I know they didn’t come from me, or from our daughter who doesn’t drive, so why were they in the cubby in the handle of the drivers side door? Only he knows, but he’s not saying. I asked him why he didn’t tell me they came from him when I asked about the staples in the conversation the night before. He said “Did you ask me about that yesterday? I don’t remember.” A five minute conversation…erased from memory. And I’m the bitch? 

He’s checked out, and I want out. How can I make ends meet without him? Right now we are nothing more than roommates, attached to each other by a legal document that costs more than I can afford to pay to have it removed. He pays the big bills, and I only make enough to cover my bills, with a little left to put towards the main ones. I don’t make enough. As hard as I’m trying to change that, it doesn’t feel like it will change any time soon. I feel like I will forever be stuck in that catch 22 where I make too much money to get the help I need, and too little money to make it on my own. 

There is a daily struggle to not let my situation consume me. Every work day, I drag myself out of bed and paste on the best smile I can muster and leave my house wishing that I didn’t have to come back to the same shitty situation. It has been a tough 13 (soon to be 14) years. We started out so good. How did we end up here? Marriage isn’t easy, and for the majority of us, we’re lying if we say it is. Things that didn’t use to bother me absolutely annoy the hell out of me now. If anything is to change with this relationship, I am going to have to change it. Whether I choose to work it out, or walk out…something’s got to change!

Why do i feel like a loser? Oh yeah…

…because almost everyone in my life has treated me like one. My bonus kids, my birth child I placed for adoption, the only one of my kids I got to raise, my ex husband, past boyfriends, my current husband, my teachers in grade school, my brothers, my mom, my friends. Whether they have stopped talking to me without an explanation or they have come right out and told me I failed to live up to their expectations or they’ve treated me like an outcast. I’m tired of everyone else having the power over me to make me feel like shit about myself. So…I’m taking it back! All the power that I’ve given up…I’m taking it back!

I’m not perfect. I am seen as a disappointment to others, but only because of their expectations. I set my own expectations, and I don’t owe anyone an explanation. I’ve done more than I thought I could: graduated with 2 degrees; raised a daughter practically by myself; found my strength and determination when I needed it most; cut ties with some people who were not good for me; protected children that weren’t mine. I accomplished all this and more because I set my own expectations for myself and I rose up to meet them. 

I am fat and I am beautiful. I am sarcastic and I am smart. I am a jerk and I am kind. I am selfish and I am giving. I hate and I love. You don’t get to set limits on me anymore. You don’t get to put me down and watch me hurt anymore. You don’t get to push your beliefs on me and you don’t get to put me down for my beliefs anymore. I am a survivor. I am resilient. And I am happy with who I am and the accomplishments I’ve made. So what if it took me longer than you thought it should to get to where I am? I got there. You didn’t put me there. 

I don’t have to be like you. I determine my happiness, and you have no say in it. I am strong enough to stand on my own. Walk away, or sit by and watch…what you do doesn’t matter to me anymore. It’s my right to be in control of me! I’m taking my power back!

Major Surgery A Week Ago…

…and I feel like the poster child for those who should “take the time to heal right, but can’t because life would fall apart if you did.” WARNING: This post is about women problems (menstruation). 

I’ve been pretty vocal about wanting more kids, and the steps I was willing to take to have them. After my cycle ran amuck and I thought I was dying from blood loss, and with no end in sight, I had an endometrial ablation. A minor-ish procedure. I was down for the next 2 days from cramping, but no more periods, right? I was told that by the 3 month post-op date, I would know if it worked or not. 6 days shy of the 3 month mark, with no warning at all, the flood gates opened! I was devastated. My period was back and just as heavy as before. Since it started I was running for the bathroom every hour, and then every time I stood up, sat down, or adjusted my position in any way. I couldn’t be more than a few steps from the bathroom at any time. By day 2 my head hurt so bad and I had already bled through a giant pad, underwear, and night shirt, and was actively bleeding on the bathroom floor. 

I wasn’t going back to the ER because I did that once before I had the ablation and all they did was put an IV below my thumb (which hurt like hell) that they took blood from but didn’t give me fluids, they gave me Benadryl to help me sleep (because clearly I would want to sleep knowing I would bleed all over), told me I was fine sand sent me home. And that was after 8 straight weeks of nonstop, heavy bleeding. I decided to call my obgyn and talk to a nurse, maybe she had suggestions or whatever. I talked to the nurse who told me I needed a CBC with differential and suggested I go to the ER or urgent care to get it. Screw that, I have connections (not many, but I have some). I called someone who ordered them without having to resort to a trip to the ER or urgent care. I made an appointment with the obgyn, and went to the lab to get the tests done. 

Fast forward 4 days and I’m sitting in the obgyn’s office. Still bleeding very heavy. He came in and asked what I wanted to do. I told him I just want it to stop, whatever it takes. I couldn’t work a full shift, and couldn’t do my job effectively while I was there, I couldn’t take care of my family, I was miserable. He said I could wait it out and see how it plays out or I could have a hysterectomy. Either way I’d be missing more work, and the only way I could stop it for sure was to pick the hysterectomy. So we scheduled it for 6 days later to give me a chance to get things in order because I wouldn’t be able to anything for the first week, and not much more for the second. I would need to plan on taking 4-6 weeks off work. 

Surgery was a week ago yesterday. I had a laparoscopic assisted partial hysterectomy. They took my uterus, cervix, and fallopian tubes, which were sent to pathology to try to determine the cause of the excessive bleeding and to make sure there’s nothing hereditary that my girls need to worry about. (We’re still waiting on the results). They left my ovaries. So any chance I might get cervical or uterine cancer were completely wiped out, and my chance of getting ovarian cancer was cut in half and I wouldn’t have to take hormones. On strong pain meds and ibuprofen, I was in bed for 5 days only getting up to go the bathroom. I had alarms set every 4 hours to help me manage the pain. On day 6 I was going crazy and had to get out of the house. Thank goodness for the scooter carts at Walmart. I got shopping done and got out of the house for a couple hours. I got home and was sore and exhausted.

Day 7 my sister-in-law and 2 of my nephews were passing through town on their way home and stopped to visit. It was so great to see them. They brought me flowers and stayed for a little while. Day eight, R had therapy, so Jay came and picked us up and drove us to the therapist. We went to Del Taco for dinner afterwards, and by the time we got home I was tired and hurting. Today, I’m staying in the house and staying in bed as long as the kids will let me. I’m down to only taking half a pain killer a couple times a day, and using over the counter pain relievers to manage the pain. It hurts a lot, but the pain is keeping me from overdoing it too much. 

I hate not being able to do more, but I don’t want to be in pain for the rest of my life because I didn’t take the time to allow myself to heal. I think that Jay and J are both finally beginning to understand how much I do for our family. With them having to step in and step up to make sure everything doesn’t fall apart, I’d like to think they will continue to help even after I’m healed. I’d like to, but I don’t. I don’t think R really grasps everything that going on, so I think he’s largely unaffected by all of the changes. 

As much as I complain and vent about my family, they’ve really stepped up and I’m very proud of them. I have another 3-5 weeks before I can go back to work, and I’m going to try to make the best of it, and not over do it too much. I’m happy I had the surgery, and I’m happy I will never have another period. I’m a little sad that I will never be pregnant again, but I think I actually came to terms with that long before I had the ablation done.