I
came out of it all right, the hysterectomy. The same fields
where I had wept goodbye to my reproductive system in the dark on a
murky Sunday night dog walk were waiting for me when I managed the
walk six weeks later, shyly showing off their very early spring green
clothes. The fields and I, we'd both had a long winter.
I
feel like the land is there for me more than so called friends who
are not. Maybe because I live a few miles out (7) I am
forgotten unless I make the effort to socialise. Maybe I don't
do well in groups, Mr. Mac doesn't, either
I
question the amount of time I spend on bonfire during the season, if
nobody cares during my rough season. I don't come up with any
answers.
As
for the rest of it, I'm glad I made hay whilst the sun shone.
The
surgical menopause into which I have been plunged, headlong, is not
so bad either. A few night sweats, a headache and minor
flushes occasionally, but that's all. Hormonally I've always
been on a storm-tossed sea, exciting adventures, glorious sunsets,
thrilling beautiful and terrifying storms, but now its as though my
vessel has landed in a calm safe cove. The water is rich with
the mystery of the deep, there are cliffs and rocks, sand and caves,
mountains beyond, and I have all the time in the world to explore.
Mr
M has been there too, he would die for me, I know that. He's
relieved that I don't need him to be around as much as we had both
feared, because he is his work, it is his life, there's not room for
too much else.
That's
where I am this Mothering Sunday morning, as the yellow sun peeps
over the neighbour's roof and I wait for my children to come, with
their children, and cook. Let's just hope they wash up.
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