It’s been about 3 weeks since my surgery, and the bruises are gone. The incision in my belly button is fine, it just looks like a little x-shaped dent. The one that’s at my pubic bone, though… ugh. Now, it’s not infected, itchy, particularly painful, or anything like that. I don’t feel it when I’m not obsessively prodding at it, but when I touch it, I feel the rock-hard scar tissue that burrows deep beneath my skin. To me, it looks black. Rob says it’s just the angle I’m seeing it from; that it’s darker, purplish, like a new scar, but nowhere near as dark as I imagine. Maybe it’s darker to my eyes because of the black news it brought me.

I have an appointment with my RE at the end of this month. She will go over our options, fertility-wise, if we actually have any options. Remember, the surgeon said that IVF wouldn’t work for me, not that we could ever afford it. Dr. F did say that the RE might decide that I should go to Halifax and have them do this same procedure over again (lovely!), and maybe they would be able to figure something out. Or maybe she wouldn’t want me to do that. I keep letting myself feel some little tiny glimmers of hope (“maybe if I do go to Halifax they will miraculously fix me!”) and I really, really shouldn’t do that, because it’s not worth the repeated disappointment when it turns out that, seriously, dudes, nothing can be done.

We shall see.

I started writing this entry with the intention of telling you about how I think maybe I’m getting my period soon. If you recall, because I’m nothing if not 100% overly candid, I was supposed to have it right after the operation, I thought (I have been having it every 30-40 days since I went off the fertility drugs. Which is better than not at all for 9 months at a time, I suppose), and I did. For a day. In the literature the hospital gave me I was told that “your next period might be irregular” and… well, for something that usually lasts for six days, eight and a half hours is certainly irregular.

The reason I think it’s coming is not due to cramping or spotting. Nothing like that.

I know it because when we were grocery shopping today, and a lady bumped into me (hard! With her cart! Right on my leg! And didn’t say sorry or anything!) in the pet supplies aisle, I nearly tore the head right off her. I managed to get myself under control, didn’t say or do anything, but for a split second there the rage that tore through me was like a tidal wave. I don’t think she realizes the bullet she dodged today. I can see the headlines: “Mild-mannered schoolteacher dismembers woman with squeaky bone! News at 11″.

I also know it because during the grocery shopping, all I wanted to do was fill the cart with these greek olive, feta, and oregano potato chips (we didn’t even get a bag – I have self control). Oh my stars, people, they are so good. SO GOOD. We bought some last week and all I wanted to do was chomp them up (in fact, I did chomp them up. Two days – entire bag gone. And I think Rob only had one chip before he retreated in horror from my gaping maw).

But what shows it most of all was that once we got home, I sat down to watch BBUK 6 (from 2005 – Rob got the entire series for me). And when I saw Kemal get evicted, I broke down into hysterics. Sobbing. Boogers. It was the Ugly Cry.

I just felt so happy for him, and so glad that he had gotten to be there for as long as he had, because he needed to be there in order to become himself, if that makes sense. He had gone through such a journey in the 10 weeks that he was there – he was 19 years old, hadn’t told his parents before going in that he was gay, even, then entered the house in full drag… his entire time in there he was terrified that when he left the show he would come home to find that his family had disowned him. When finally, in the seventh week, he received a message from both his parents saying that they were proud of him and would stand by him, watching his face was incredible. The fear and hope and finally relief and joy that played across his features in that 60 seconds… priceless.

Anyway. Yeah. So. The PMS. I has it.