Today I went for my two-week follow up visit with my gynecological surgeon and all-around great physician, Dr. India. Visits with Dr. India are always peppered with good-natured ribbing on her part regarding the uniqueness of my particular uterus. She’s been up there twice and ripped it out when it misbehaved, so in term of experts on that particular part of my body, I’d have to say she has even more experience than I do–I just carried around the vessel–she has actually peered into it!
After the requisite checking of my undercarriage to make sure all was healing appropriate after evicting Uterus and all her little friends, she broached the topic of what I could and couldn’t do at this point in my recovery. Since it was only two week, she didn’t want me to do much, but she did approve my two favorite forms of exercise—Tai Chi and walking. In fact, she continued the discussion of my own, personal need for movement with something I didn’t want to hear. “You have to be very careful not to gain weight. Fat raises estrogen levels and estrogen grows Breast Cancer. How much do you weigh?.” Before I got sick, I would have proudly shared my weight with her, because I lost 100 pounds after my little boy was born. However, since the mystery illness I had last year this time turned out to be a timeshare in CancerLand, I haven’t been able to shake an embarrassing 15 lb. gain. Even though this woman had peered into the depths of my uterus, I was ashamed to tell her how much I weigh. However, after this latest chop chop, I lost almost six pounds! When I weighed myself this morning, I was back in what I considered a ‘safe’ zone. I proudly told her that magic number. What she said then was horrible. I can’t believe after all the time we’ve spend together, she would go and diss me with her words like she did. “You have to lose 10 pounds,” she implored. “You don’t want to carry that extra weight.” Of course not. I ashamedly promised her I would lose that nagging 10 pounds that have been sticking to my thighs like a young lover, seducing me with chocolate and sweets while I recuperate from this whole ordeal.
So, the facts are in. I’m doing well in cleaning up what the Girls Downstairs left. I’m fortunate that all they seem to have left was a bad case of endometriosis. Thank G-d there were no malignancies, or even atypical areas of concern. All I have to do is break up with Cheryl and her cookies, increase my walking, and viola! I should be ready for the next surgery–exactly one week from today. After that, you’ll see me walking around the neighborhood trying to figure out how far I have to go before I can reward myself with an anti-oxidant rich dark chocolate bar. Because we must exercise moderation in all things, especially exercise!