September 6, 2013
I was doing fine since this morning. Dr. Orlofsky had a long chat with me about it, since I had to tell her about the impending absence anyway. I knocked on her door this morning and was greeted with a sweet but concerned smile.
“What’s going on? What had you so upset?”
So I told her everything, even as far back as the initial discovery a month ago. She nodded and gave me a smile. She then went on to tell me that I’ve always been a bit of a diva (I laughed with her at that and agreed), but that was what made me so loveable; and that I had nothing to worry about, because the point was that my doctor found it and he was going to take care of it. Surgeries can be scary, yes, but she’s always had good luck with Troy’s doctors. And rather than look at it as a hardship or curse, I should look at it as a test for me and Jeff. “If you’re old enough to get married and think about kids, you’re old enough to deal with this! Now put your big girl panties on and face it like the tough woman I know you are!” she said.
And she’s right. I do, but I have every right to be scared, and she knows that. She ordered me to tell Jeff that any time I’m feeling down, to poke me and tell me to cheer up. He also has orders from her to be my rock, my knight in shining armor, my teddy bear, or whatever I deem necessary to comfort me. In closing, Dr. O bet me a steak dinner that everything will turn out okay – no hysterectomy, no cancer, no complications, and I’ll be back to school (even if still a little weak) on October 1. I love that woman. She is my mother away from home.
And I felt better for the most part. All but one of my teachers gave me encouragement and showed willingness to cooperate with me, my friends in Chorale all gathered in a circle around me and got in a big group hug of love and faith when I shared the news with them, Dr. Brown (the new Collegiate Singers director) is going to rally up a support group for me for the day of the surgery, and Jeff already scheduled to be off on that Monday and Tuesday.
All in all, I was fine until I got home and started breaking the news on Facebook… That sparked an onslaught of commentary that I didn’t necessarily want or need…
“I’ll be a surrogate mother for you if I have to.”
“Golf balls better than orange lol... well hopefully they just remove it and you can have one but be careful cause after surgeries like this women get pregnant very fast! And I'm sure you guys aren't ready for kids and if so you can just have [my son]!”
“I’m so sad for you…”
“If you ever need one, I’ll be a surrogate mom.”
“Oh man you have a teratoma! That’s awesome and probably the best news ever, considering they’re almost always benign.” At least this one was partially supportive.
Can people just stop? I know they mean well, but really? Telling me that you’ll be a surrogate mother for me? That it’s sad what I’m going through? You couldn’t think of anything better to say, even just a generic “Feel better soon” or “You’ll be okay” or something? Really? Telling me that you’ll be a surrogate, as nice a gesture as that is, is really misplaced for the moment. It’s like you’re telling me that now that I’m having surgery, I’ll never know what it’s like to get pregnant and have my own children! Do they even realize how disheartening that is for me, when I’m already so terrified and doubtful, doubtful enough to even blame God, unjustly so?
I’m surrounded by idiots.