There are many days in the hospital that are indistinguishable from one another, but one particular four-to-maybe six hour stretch of time stands out in my memory.
I remember the nurse: she was quiet and graceful, almost like a ballet dancer in the chorus, so quiet you almost don’t know that she is there but her beauty adds to the experience and you miss her when she is gone.
I remember watching her when she was doing something related to my car: perhaps fixing the ever present blood pressure sleeve so it would automatically record my momentarily high blood pressure. I noticed how beautifully symmetrical her hair style was.
She was the only nurse who made sure I had time to get ready to go to sleep during the normal hours: all those hygiene habits the others ignored.
She also noticed something else I thought I had noticed secretly.
“Are you still having your menses?”
I looked down and said, “No? Not usually, but my uterus in here – today – seems to be trying really hard to be like she used to be.”
I patted my lower belly and said, “Good job, sweetie. We made it through a tough time. You have done your job well. Thank you… you don’t need to bleed anymore….”
I looked up and her round gentle face looked like she might smile, but she didn’t.
I wrote in my daily check in five years ago: my sweet uterus is one of my most precious organs. She has been sending tiny menstrual type blood flowers for the last couple days, reminding me of the lives I’ve borne (and lost) and borne. So reassuring. Made for great conversation with my nurse, too. My Uterus… sweet thing. She’s been talking to my kidneys as my creatine levels got closer to normal.
The thoughtful nurse had taken the alarms off my bed so I could brush my teeth and wash my face. The concept of making my hair look better was long gone. I had braided it to keep it in place and hopefully less stringy than it would look otherwise.
I didn’t spend long in this room. I was pushed into my last room before this nurse’s shift was over – somewhere between 2 and 3 am, the usual time for my moves. I don’t know how people who are healing are supposed to get quality rest when we are moved around from room to room in the wee hours of the night all the time.
October holds a lot of important dates for me, including this one.
On October 19, 2019, my brave, beautiful, loving uterus bled for the last time.
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What a powerful and deeply personal reflection! Your words resonate on so many levels, especially in acknowledging the beauty, bravery, and transformation that comes with such a significant life change. Thank you for sharing your journey with such raw honesty and grace. It’s inspiring to see how you’ve embraced this new chapter with both vulnerability and strength
That was a beautiful story.
Thank you for telling it in such a sweet way.
I never had babies. I don’t know who was sadder: my uterus or my heart. Or maybe they cried together.
Memories bring joy and sadness.
Your nurse is an absolute gem and probably exactly the person you needed to have around you!
Some nurses seem to be there only for their paycheck, your nurse seemed to be there for you. She sounded full of compassion and caring. Just what you needed.