On Easter Sunday, a few of my friends texted me which read, “Happy Easter hun, have you got any eggs”?
I replied by saying, “Actually no I haven’t because my ovaries were removed five years ago when I had my hysterectomy”.
My pals should know this; because they visited me at the hospital and brought me a bunch a grapes; which I threw at the wall because I thought they were someone’s piles. I know, I know, but I was high on the morphine at the time.
My partner came to visit too. He took one look at me and said, “You look awful! I bet you don’t have this operation again love”! Well no, I don’t suppose I would because wombs, ovaries and the rest of the reproductive organs don’t tend to grow back do they? The Nurse came on the ward to do her observations and she looked a bit wary of my partner.
Jack the Ripper
When he nipped to the loo I asked her what the matter was. She composed herself, took a deep breath and whispered, “Shouldn’t your partner still be in prison”? Apparently, when I was administered my pre-med before the op, I started slurring my speech and told her and the consultant that my partner was in prison because he was like Jack the Ripper.
“Erm, no”, I began to explain, “He has been in prison, yes, for selling dodgy perfume on the market, and people started to call him, Jack the Rip Off”. The Nurse smiled and replied, “Thank goodness for that! It must have been the effect of the pre-med getting you all confused”! When my other half came back from the loo, the Nurse started chuckling and said to him, “Have you any Opium you can sell me”?
My partner replied, “No love, I gave up drug dealing years ago”! I coughed so much I nearly burst my catheter! “She meant Opium as in the bloody perfume by Yves Saint Laurent”! I cursed clenching my fists at him. Luckily the nurse thought he was joking and it was back to the serious stuff. My stomach was sore and felt like a lorry had run over it.
A hysterectomy is a major operation and one that takes some months to recover from. The nurse explained that because all my reproductive organs had been removed, I would need HRT. My other half piped up, “What’s HRT”? I replied, “Husband Replacement Therapy”! He shook his head and said, “I promise you with all my heart that I will never ever go back to prison – oh which reminds me, I need to ring probation and tell them that I’m going to be a bit late because I’m here”.
I passed him my mobile phone and he rang his probation officer. The conversation went like this: “Hi, I’m just ringing to let you know that I’ll be a bit late for my appointment this afternoon because my wife has just had a vasectomy and I’m at the hospital with her at the moment”. Wonderful! Just wonderful! I was in a hospital bed wincing in agony with friend’s texting me calling me Lara Croft – Womb Raider!
The nurses refused to top up my morphine because I had used the limit (hardly surprising) and now my partner’s probation officer thinks I’m a lady boy and will probably ask me if Thailand is a good place to visit!
He set off to his probation appointment and me? Well I grabbed the gas and air and blissfully floated off to the Island of Phuket – minus the man AND the woman bits!