525,600 minutes….
The song is stuck in my head.
Dates, numbers, zip codes, birthdates, anniversaries. I think in numbers. I think that’s why teaching math makes so much sense to me.
I used to balance my checkbook right down to the penny. Now I use “estimation.” Sometimes numbers are important, and other times not so much.
Tomorrow is the 16th. January 16th is the birthday of an old friend, but that wasn’t why the 16 was sticking in my head tonight. Tomorrow it will be 8 months since my hysterectomy. Not 6 months, not a year. Eight months is an odd “anniversary” to remember.
I don’t try to understand why I remember certain things. I just do.
Although if I have to guess, tonight the hysterectomy is on my mind because I am feeling my age. (Or perhaps a bit older than my age.)
You see when you have a complete hysterectomy in your late (very late) 30s, Mother Nature has a grand old time, messing with your body and your head. As the months go by your body finds ways to behave that aren’t quite “right.”
Yippee- you no longer suffer through monthly visits to the local drug store to relieve your misery. (She was never my “friend” anyway.) But that may be where the cheering ends.
Tonight I was sure the thermostats – yes both of them – were broken. I fiddled with them to get the chill out of the air when I got home from work. No sooner did I finish the first of the homework with Meghan, and I was removing layers. I checked the temperature again. It couldn’t be only 70 degrees. In my world we were in balmy Orlando in August.
Properly changed into a T shirt, I asked Meghan why she wasn’t sweating in her long sleeve shirt.
“Mom, it’s January. Are you OK?”
Yep. Fine. Guess the thermostats are fine too. It’s mine that is a little broken.
Mine is running hot and dry like the Sahara. Lots of water. No wine tonight.
The hysterectomy was a good idea. A necessary step in the “beating Cowden’s” process. I get it. I am not sorry I did it. But really some days I have to say this estrogen withdrawl thing is not for the faint of heart.
I popped one of the migrane pills. An added joy since the surgery – hormonal migranes. And the cool thing is (in my most sarcastic typing) that there seems to be NO rhyme or reason to their timing.
4 migranes my entire life before May. At least 8 since May.
With all the changes my body has been through this year, its a wonder we are still on speaking terms. I guess when I really think about it – it’s probably Ok that I am running at different speed these days. Bursts of energy, coupled with bone crushing fatigue…
525,600 minutes… Cowden’s Syndrome has kept us busy. I can only imagine what 2013 has in store.
Now if you’ll excuse me…. I have to go stick my head in the freezer…
beatingcowdens 