Friday, August 03, 2007

the meta-narrative of my fibroid: or, fibroids as God's feminist punishment

it is 4 days until Agatha-extraction. (i named my fibroid Agatha; it brings to mind a pink, lumpy old lady huddled in a warm snug place who's about to get evicted. a miss marple of uterine invaders.)

against my will and despite my best 'think positive-ness' my imagination is full of those awful NBC Dateline-esque news stories: Stone Philips fills the tv screen with his big impassive face and says, 'It was an ordinary procedure. One performed millions of times before on millions of ordinary women just like her. But, sadly, the family and friends of Ding would soon realize that sometimes tragedy strikes despite the ordinary."

or something lame like that.

i can't help but think that if the next 4 days was a plot point in a novel bought in the checkout lane at the supermarket, i'd be worried about Me about now. reading about the protagonist who has made some questionable decisions over the past year and blatantly flaunted a 'whatever' face to the world at large, i would be worried that the Author would take this opportunity in the narrative to 'teach Me a lesson'. (sort of like the annoying holly hunter show Saving Grace.)

in such a mass market novel, this would be the moment in the story where the hard drinking/smoking/sexing wench (Me) would be given the opportunity to Learn Something Valuable about strength in perseverance as she recovers from the stroke she's had because the anathesia was wrong and she struggles to form basic words;
or i learn the love of a good man as the doctor, who accidentally removed all my reproductive organs because he's a drunk, falls in love with me when i sue him in a malpractice case that will change the shape of litigation forEVER;
or maybe i learn the identity of the 5 people i'd talk to in heaven after i bleed out on the operating table because i forgot to tell my doctors i've been taking an aspirin a day to stop a toothache.

these are the mental stories that fill my days when i'm not paying attention. needless to say, i'm a little stressed out.
the other day, when i was with Roomie and some friends celebrating Roomie's birthday, i was asked how i was holding up.

i said, 'uh, ok. i'm just slightly anxious about, you know, dying.'
Roomie said, 'you have to go into it thinking you're going to die. it's liberating.'
'you know, that's SO not soothing,' i said. (although there was a little voice asking me, If you're so cool with your faith, how come you're anxious? then i told the little voice to shut the frak up - i'm a weak human, that's why!)

she shrugged. 'it's soothing to me. i don't know why you're worried. you have no issue with dying. you talk to jesus and stuff.'

i said, 'it's not dying. it's the southern baptist superstition that i could still be wrong. i mean, yeah, i've done and believed almost all of the right things - almost - but what if i could still go to hell? presbyterians have that 'sealed' thing. baptists? not so much. God has a crazy sense of humor and right when you think you're all right, BAM! He could let hell could getcha.'

Roomie said, 'you are crazy.'

another friend, who also grew up fundamentalist, laughed and said, 'no. punishment or the devil's always there. ready to get you.'

i said, 'see? you can take the girl out of the baptist, but blah blah blah. still there. and i was with B- last week? yeah. could totally be punished for being a tart and God will kill me and i'll go to hell.'

my laughing friend said, 'but that's not the worst case scenario. worst case scenario is you end up a vegetable.'
i said, 'SEE?? she gets it! that's it! i could end up a vegetable because i had sex last week and i'm really supposed to be a repressed baptist virgin my whole life until i get married!'

'totally. nutbag. the two of you,' my Roomie said. but she doesn't get it.

she made artsy-craftsy dioramas in sunday school while i memorized scripture, learned about the rapture and was told how everyone was going to hell to burn in eternal hell fire if they knew gay people or had sex.

(and, yeah. any comment resembling this will get deleted: 'well, if you were a REAL christian woman you wouldn't be so worried. i hope God sends you a blood clot and you end up like terry shiaivo. then you'll learn.')


Anonymous said...

aww, you'll be okay with the surgery, whenever they decide you are ready for agatha to be removed.

ding said...

thanks, JM. i appreciate the calming words!