So this is something that I wrote on FB last month. I'm trying to do better about blogging again...so here's my first post. It's a cheat post kinda. Lol.
My Beautiful Struggle
I thought about writing this note for a while. Wait a minute...I struggled. I lost a few nerves, screamed, tore off a few heads, and months later finally thought about writing this note for a while. It's long. Here goes:
I left my job back in July 2013 because Daniel and I had decided two things. 1. I needed to have a career that I loved, and he needed to keep advancing with his career. 2. We were ready to start a family, and we wanted to be close to our families for this part of our journey. We had agreed back in Mach or April 2013 that we would start working on a baby in October 2013 right after our Vegas trip in September. Priorities. In April 2013, I was told that I had fibroids. No big deal. Black women and fibroids are like peanut butter and jelly. No one knows why we are so susceptible, but we are. The first doctor I spoke with told me to leave them alone. “You need to stop waiting and start having children because it's what we're commanded to do.” I don't argue with this because he said it in a loving, straightforward, and old Christian man way. I was having some pain, and he told me there was one that looked like it was sitting on a stalk that may be the reason for this pain. We set a date for surgery for June 14, 2013 to remove this little "bump" in the road. My wonderful doctor at the time went in and saw that the fibroid wasn't what they originally thought it was. In fact, she (different doc for surgery) said my ultrasounds did not show the true size of the creatures inside of me. She sewed me back up, I woke up in 45 min, and she told me about the two tennis ball sized growths that were obstructing my uterine cavity (there were actually 6 biguns total). She said she couldn't see how I would have enough room in my love sack for a baby and the squatters. Not only did I have to have them removed, but I would have to wait 6 months after surgery before trying. STFD? Me: Seriously God do you just like to take your big red pen and scratch through every plan that I ever come up with? Like hasn't that thing run out of ink yet? Jesus where you at? You're at his right hand making intercessions for me, right? Intercede Bro!
Emotional Reactions: 1. Frustration 2. Sadness 3. Anger 4. Acceptance 5. Submission. (Not my will but Yours.) 6. Happiness.
We arrived in GA on August 1, 2013. I hadn't been that happy since my wedding day. I knew that God had a plan for us, and I was eager to find out what it was. I began my hunt for the doctor who was going to rid my body of these freeloaders. First doctor, I don't do surgery anymore. Second doctor, I can do it but not laparoscopically. Here are some referrals. Third doctor, I can pull a watermelon out of a 1 inch incision (He says this with a huge cocky grin on his face.). He really can do it. All the doctors send him the tough cases. Later on, I get the call that he's out of network. That will be $4500 please. o_O.....Fourth Doctor, out of network. Fifth doctor, out of network. Sixth doctor, OUT OF NETWORK. I finally decided to go to my insurance plan's site and find a doctor who performs minimally invasive gynecological surgery. Only one name was on the screen- Dr. Assia Stepanian.
Let me just say, Dr. Stepanian is the result of waiting and trusting in the Lord. My first appointment with Dr. Stepanian was weird (You're thinking about that transition, right?). I was sitting there with my medical records and prepared to go through my medical history back to the first day that I found the Red Sea parting in my underpants.
Pause. Let 11 yo Kim takeover..."How did that get there? Wait there's more? Gasp. NOOOOOOO!!!!!! (AT&T switchboard lights up in the 904 area code section of Monticello, FL. Kim/Trashpile/Milford is a woman now.) Absolute mortification for the rest of her teenage life. 11 yo Kim exits stage. Play.
Dr. Stepanian came in and did something no doctor has ever done before. She hugged me. Okay, she's a HUGGER. This is weird, but this surely could be worse. She surprised me again by listening to me. If you've ever been to the doctor, it's like you're on repeat with them. I hate it. She only interrupted me once to clarify something and then she listened to me. After going through my medical records, she wants to have her own exam. Fair enough. At this point, I am honestly tired of being poked and prodded. I mean up to this point I could count on one hand the number of people who have been that up close and personal with me, and the list had grown exponentially in my short time in GA. She performs her exam. She whips my girls out and checks for lumps. At one point I guess my hand was a little tense, so she stopped and patted my hand to let me know there was nothing to be worried about. I wasn't worried, but the gesture meant much to me. After she's done, she tells me she can feel a fibroid that she's not sure she can get laparoscopically, but she will try. Sweet baby Jesus not again! Time for a MRI.
I took my MRI. For some reason, I was expecting more blue lights and a year 2038 feel, but it was just me being placed into a soda can hooked with magnets and other imaging devices. The tech that I had was this older gay guy who had moved from Fort Valley, GA 20+ years ago because he needed to be in the City. He got all up in my business, but he was so nice about it that I didn't mind sharing with him. He told me I was charming and pretty, and that I would be alright. I'm happy he's in the medical field. He was needed that day. I go back for the results. Everything is a little more finite. I find out that my uterus is the size of a 16-18 week pregnant woman. My first thought was "I look four months preggers..... HOT DAMN!!!" I knew I had some weight in my stomach area that I couldn't get rid of, but these damn things now had an upside to them. It wasn't just the cheeseburgers, pizza, cake and fries. I legitimately have a medical condition, and it's not being big boned! Surgery/lipo is scheduled.
Feburary 20th, I arrive at Northside Hospital. I'm ready. I wrote notes in my journal for Dan, my parents, in-laws and grandma. Just in case notes. Then Debbie, my nurse, comes in. Debbie smells familiar. Me: You smell good. Debbie: Oh no, I do? We're not supposed to have anything on. I sprayed down here (motioning hands in vagina to knee cap area.) Me: (Laughing) I like you Debbie. Debbie was wearing Light Blue that day. She becomes one of my perfume BFF's. I spoke with my Mom, prayed with my Dad, and then Mr. Watkins sent me a text telling me it's his turn. Seriously, it said "It's my turn." He comes in and all we do is laugh. It's time to go. I love you. See you in a little bit. I get to spend the rest of the day going in and out of consciousness. I mean the hallucinations were crazy and mostly about cookies. I saw a bunch of sugar cookies in the shape of the Star of David. They were covered in blue sprinkles. The next one was of chocolate chip cookies on a huge chocolate chip cookie that had frosting on its rim. This is why people go to rehab. Why wouldn't you want to be in a perpetual state hallucinating about cookies? I go in on Thursday, and I get to leave on Saturday morning if I can pass the test. The test only has one question, and it's fairly easy most days of the week. Can I pass gas? That's right folks, can I crack one, lay a goose egg, release methane into the air, etc. All I have to do is fart, and I'm out of there. I finally do it. Dan and I high five, and the nurse calls my doctor. You would have thought we cured cancer Saturday morning.
I'm home now. It only hurts when I move too fast or laugh. We laugh a lot in our home, so I've been in much pain. It's okay. What I have learned is that it's so easy to take the simplest things for granted. I pray that I never take anything in life for granted again. When I do, I will think back on the moment, that I laid in a hospital bed high fiving my husband because I was able to pass gas. It's not my greatest life achievement, but it is one that showed me how wonderful the simple things in life are. So where does all of this leave me medically? We'll have to wait 3-6 months before we open up the draft to recruit a new player for the team. I'll have to have a c-section because my uterus won't be able to handle contractions. That's okay too. What's more important is that we still have an option. If God does decide to say no, that gift isn't for you, I'll find a way to accept to his will again. (Jer. 29 v.11)
In the interim, I will enjoy my family, friends, and my amazing husband Daniel. God has already blessed me with so much, and I know he has so much more for us in store. I'm sharing this because someone shared with me her story about her miscarriages. She was depressed about them, but God didn't say no to her. She has a beautiful child now, and she loves that child more than anything. God uses us to help each other. This may be a blessing for another who's in need.
If you read this entire thing, wow. I love you! If you didn’t, I love you too (maybe). :) If I didn't tag you, and you feel some kind of way about that. Vicodin.
Remember it’s about perspective. I'm choosing to laugh through the pain.
Love,
Kim
Dr. Girlfirend
Haburi
Kimbo
Mrs. Watkins
Kimmy
Kimmy-Kim
Kimgirl
Average Pants
Trashpile
Milford
Storm
I left my job back in July 2013 because Daniel and I had decided two things. 1. I needed to have a career that I loved, and he needed to keep advancing with his career. 2. We were ready to start a family, and we wanted to be close to our families for this part of our journey. We had agreed back in Mach or April 2013 that we would start working on a baby in October 2013 right after our Vegas trip in September. Priorities. In April 2013, I was told that I had fibroids. No big deal. Black women and fibroids are like peanut butter and jelly. No one knows why we are so susceptible, but we are. The first doctor I spoke with told me to leave them alone. “You need to stop waiting and start having children because it's what we're commanded to do.” I don't argue with this because he said it in a loving, straightforward, and old Christian man way. I was having some pain, and he told me there was one that looked like it was sitting on a stalk that may be the reason for this pain. We set a date for surgery for June 14, 2013 to remove this little "bump" in the road. My wonderful doctor at the time went in and saw that the fibroid wasn't what they originally thought it was. In fact, she (different doc for surgery) said my ultrasounds did not show the true size of the creatures inside of me. She sewed me back up, I woke up in 45 min, and she told me about the two tennis ball sized growths that were obstructing my uterine cavity (there were actually 6 biguns total). She said she couldn't see how I would have enough room in my love sack for a baby and the squatters. Not only did I have to have them removed, but I would have to wait 6 months after surgery before trying. STFD? Me: Seriously God do you just like to take your big red pen and scratch through every plan that I ever come up with? Like hasn't that thing run out of ink yet? Jesus where you at? You're at his right hand making intercessions for me, right? Intercede Bro!
Emotional Reactions: 1. Frustration 2. Sadness 3. Anger 4. Acceptance 5. Submission. (Not my will but Yours.) 6. Happiness.
We arrived in GA on August 1, 2013. I hadn't been that happy since my wedding day. I knew that God had a plan for us, and I was eager to find out what it was. I began my hunt for the doctor who was going to rid my body of these freeloaders. First doctor, I don't do surgery anymore. Second doctor, I can do it but not laparoscopically. Here are some referrals. Third doctor, I can pull a watermelon out of a 1 inch incision (He says this with a huge cocky grin on his face.). He really can do it. All the doctors send him the tough cases. Later on, I get the call that he's out of network. That will be $4500 please. o_O.....Fourth Doctor, out of network. Fifth doctor, out of network. Sixth doctor, OUT OF NETWORK. I finally decided to go to my insurance plan's site and find a doctor who performs minimally invasive gynecological surgery. Only one name was on the screen- Dr. Assia Stepanian.
Let me just say, Dr. Stepanian is the result of waiting and trusting in the Lord. My first appointment with Dr. Stepanian was weird (You're thinking about that transition, right?). I was sitting there with my medical records and prepared to go through my medical history back to the first day that I found the Red Sea parting in my underpants.
Pause. Let 11 yo Kim takeover..."How did that get there? Wait there's more? Gasp. NOOOOOOO!!!!!! (AT&T switchboard lights up in the 904 area code section of Monticello, FL. Kim/Trashpile/Milford is a woman now.) Absolute mortification for the rest of her teenage life. 11 yo Kim exits stage. Play.
Dr. Stepanian came in and did something no doctor has ever done before. She hugged me. Okay, she's a HUGGER. This is weird, but this surely could be worse. She surprised me again by listening to me. If you've ever been to the doctor, it's like you're on repeat with them. I hate it. She only interrupted me once to clarify something and then she listened to me. After going through my medical records, she wants to have her own exam. Fair enough. At this point, I am honestly tired of being poked and prodded. I mean up to this point I could count on one hand the number of people who have been that up close and personal with me, and the list had grown exponentially in my short time in GA. She performs her exam. She whips my girls out and checks for lumps. At one point I guess my hand was a little tense, so she stopped and patted my hand to let me know there was nothing to be worried about. I wasn't worried, but the gesture meant much to me. After she's done, she tells me she can feel a fibroid that she's not sure she can get laparoscopically, but she will try. Sweet baby Jesus not again! Time for a MRI.
I took my MRI. For some reason, I was expecting more blue lights and a year 2038 feel, but it was just me being placed into a soda can hooked with magnets and other imaging devices. The tech that I had was this older gay guy who had moved from Fort Valley, GA 20+ years ago because he needed to be in the City. He got all up in my business, but he was so nice about it that I didn't mind sharing with him. He told me I was charming and pretty, and that I would be alright. I'm happy he's in the medical field. He was needed that day. I go back for the results. Everything is a little more finite. I find out that my uterus is the size of a 16-18 week pregnant woman. My first thought was "I look four months preggers..... HOT DAMN!!!" I knew I had some weight in my stomach area that I couldn't get rid of, but these damn things now had an upside to them. It wasn't just the cheeseburgers, pizza, cake and fries. I legitimately have a medical condition, and it's not being big boned! Surgery/lipo is scheduled.
Feburary 20th, I arrive at Northside Hospital. I'm ready. I wrote notes in my journal for Dan, my parents, in-laws and grandma. Just in case notes. Then Debbie, my nurse, comes in. Debbie smells familiar. Me: You smell good. Debbie: Oh no, I do? We're not supposed to have anything on. I sprayed down here (motioning hands in vagina to knee cap area.) Me: (Laughing) I like you Debbie. Debbie was wearing Light Blue that day. She becomes one of my perfume BFF's. I spoke with my Mom, prayed with my Dad, and then Mr. Watkins sent me a text telling me it's his turn. Seriously, it said "It's my turn." He comes in and all we do is laugh. It's time to go. I love you. See you in a little bit. I get to spend the rest of the day going in and out of consciousness. I mean the hallucinations were crazy and mostly about cookies. I saw a bunch of sugar cookies in the shape of the Star of David. They were covered in blue sprinkles. The next one was of chocolate chip cookies on a huge chocolate chip cookie that had frosting on its rim. This is why people go to rehab. Why wouldn't you want to be in a perpetual state hallucinating about cookies? I go in on Thursday, and I get to leave on Saturday morning if I can pass the test. The test only has one question, and it's fairly easy most days of the week. Can I pass gas? That's right folks, can I crack one, lay a goose egg, release methane into the air, etc. All I have to do is fart, and I'm out of there. I finally do it. Dan and I high five, and the nurse calls my doctor. You would have thought we cured cancer Saturday morning.
I'm home now. It only hurts when I move too fast or laugh. We laugh a lot in our home, so I've been in much pain. It's okay. What I have learned is that it's so easy to take the simplest things for granted. I pray that I never take anything in life for granted again. When I do, I will think back on the moment, that I laid in a hospital bed high fiving my husband because I was able to pass gas. It's not my greatest life achievement, but it is one that showed me how wonderful the simple things in life are. So where does all of this leave me medically? We'll have to wait 3-6 months before we open up the draft to recruit a new player for the team. I'll have to have a c-section because my uterus won't be able to handle contractions. That's okay too. What's more important is that we still have an option. If God does decide to say no, that gift isn't for you, I'll find a way to accept to his will again. (Jer. 29 v.11)
In the interim, I will enjoy my family, friends, and my amazing husband Daniel. God has already blessed me with so much, and I know he has so much more for us in store. I'm sharing this because someone shared with me her story about her miscarriages. She was depressed about them, but God didn't say no to her. She has a beautiful child now, and she loves that child more than anything. God uses us to help each other. This may be a blessing for another who's in need.
If you read this entire thing, wow. I love you! If you didn’t, I love you too (maybe). :) If I didn't tag you, and you feel some kind of way about that. Vicodin.
Remember it’s about perspective. I'm choosing to laugh through the pain.
Love,
Kim
Dr. Girlfirend
Haburi
Kimbo
Mrs. Watkins
Kimmy
Kimmy-Kim
Kimgirl
Average Pants
Trashpile
Milford
Storm
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