Representing “ME”

I’m currently representing just “me.”

Now that I am interested in being a part of something bigger than me, again, I can begin to redefine my own social norms.

✋

🧙‍♀️None of that will be “ necessary.”

I’ve always been “me.”

Whatever me “besting it out” looked like.

I might take down a couple “memes” that don’t serve me. I prefer to be naked like the Blue Bird, as I’ve been advised.

It’s not good for me to be naked like the Coyote.

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Last night’s self-care shower time was possible because my daughter was able to standby assist me with her presence in my bathroom. It’s just odd to watch & feel some things plop out of me. Like clumps of status-post, likely styptic powder to stop post-biopsy bleeding & likely the shedding of iodine-infused cervical tissue.

Iodine is good.

It helps to prevent any post-biopsy raging puerperal infection from attempting to kill me via sepsis (again), and it was ALL. All making its way out in no sort of order at all. I’m sloughing off, from the inside. I guess I’m getting the “meanness” out of me.

“That’s right, I am!”

-Diane Teets, My Best Childhood Friend

“Please hand me the Kevorkian,” yep, “that’s what I heard.” I had to laugh out loud about that due to the severe irony of the obvious reality of why I was at the women’s health clinic.

There really is a sterile instrument called that.

😂

The staff was kind.

They didn’t attempt to hide the obviousness of the moment.

I think that’s the kindest thing they did.

Besides be prepared to care for me with their knowledge. You can always tell who studied in school. No matter the school. You can see it by who is willing to do the most uncomfortable tasks, grossest tasks, address the “hangry,” etc.

The staff was solid.

It was like watching a good Metallica jam. The focus of these ladies was akin to that. As they cared for me during my procedure with their focus.

The lady MD was armed with her Carl Zeiss, and hopefully a good shield from my juicy bits.

The lady airman was armed with fox tails, a Kevorkian, formalin containers, and more.

They weren’t worried. They were “working,” effectively. These women knew what they were doing. An earthquake could have occurred and I don’t believe it would have changed how they accomplished my colposcopy procedure.

I was so relieved to know that.

(That happened while at Bagram, earthquakes.

At “work,” or at the “dorm.”)

It was close to yabba dabba doo time when they were doing my colposcopy. I asked them if they were gonna have chicken for dinner tonight, or spaghetti and meat sauce. We all chuckled. I had the God-squad crew, it had to be! For them to tolerate my motor mouth.

I was just so grateful! For my MD! She informed me that my cervix didn’t have all the nerve endings as other parts of our body. I thought about cows getting branded. I decided to believe her. I’m so glad I listened to her. Knowing that kept me from falling to pieces, supine. It can be unsettling enough to be in the good ole’ lithotomy position; while hearing the word “Kevorkian ,” and the mechanical, clicking “CHOMP” of a pair of tissue forceps. To be able to not feel afraid, the MD had to inform me of every detail. That’s what the MD did. She did an amazing job interacting with this retired ICU RN, as a person.

I was such a wreck. I had absolutely no clue why I was even there. I seriously thought I just needed a Pap smear. My son didn’t forget. He knew it was for a biopsy. I had forgotten the words. My heart was appropriately enraged to have gone alone for the first appointment, and I had prepped & almost

went alone, to all the subsequent biopsy appointments I simply couldn’t calm down enough to attend. When my family saw I had no interest in being their continued maid or cash cow, that’s when they stepped up.

When my family saw I would not take myself to get cervical biopsies without:

dishes out of my sink

coffee pot, ready to brew

dogs, already fed & attended to

food prepped, like oatmeal so I don’t die from hypoglycemia

water bottle, with 50/50 orange juice and H2O so I don’t die from an electrolyte imbalance, and I stay hydrated, enough

clean clothes to wear

clean socks to wear

decent shoes

dog turds, addressed

gas, in my truck

painting my face

doing my hair

✨That’s when my son “helped” me. I needed someone to show up with me in a pair of actual “pants.”

Someone that could also drive me home after my procedure.

I’m beyond grateful for my son driving my truck for me when I didn’t “feel” strong, enough. My cervix was grateful to not know “The Kevorkian!” Lol

However, the body’s tissue, it knows and does its own post-procedure inflammatory response.

That kicked in as soon as I walked back to my truck.

I just grateful my Doctor had the ability to be aware of my feelings, and she allowed me to exist with them, She did this as she continued to do her job, of helping me to not die. She did this by focusing on what she was doing and speaking of that.

The entire staff resonated compassion.

I believe “compassion” is the fuel required to “help” others. I believe compassion is also a feeling that “others” can receive. Compassion is what communicates to others that you “care.”

The ultimate compassion is when someone bothers to study! They cared enough to “study.”

That’s the best gift they gave me.

The results of their personal work on their own brains & psyches.

I believe compassion requires doing your work, without judging other people, and all of it must be done in the most humane or gentlest of ways possible.

Horses still help me because they have given me something to love that is much bigger than myself.

Their physical bodies are much bigger.

That’s “all.”

Always & Truly,

- Se Young Owens Mooney