SOLSC '26 Day Nine: A letter to my reproductive system

 

I'm taking a detour from my walking theme with this piece, 

which I'm writing the day before it will be posted. 

The reason will be made clear...

Dear Reproductive System,

     Our time together is coming to a close, but I didn't want you to leave without my gratitude and apologies.  We have had a love-hate relationship over the years, but I really thought we'd signed a truce post-menopause.  I guess it was a false assumption on my part, as has now been proven by multiple ultrasounds, CAT scans, an MRI, and detailed labwork.

     But I'm getting ahead of myself here.  Let's revisit our history together, starting from the beginning, way back when I was thirteen.  You were fairly kind to me then, making your monthly presence known without much fanfare.  After listening to my mother's horror stories of floods and pain, I felt lucky to have skipped a generational curse.  

     Fast forward to our first pregnancy.  You did a great job making it happen...and a lousy job finishing the work.  No one gave you permission to just clock out at twenty-six weeks.  I spent the better part of sixty-five days hating you as our firstborn began her life in a neonatal unit.  She survived though, and thrived, so I finally gave you some credit for what you did get done and moved on.

     Then came the second pregnancy.  You had the decency to send some sort of signal to my brain to let me know not to count on this one at all...so thanks for that early RSVP.  Knowing that sometimes it just happens that way, we were still on good terms. 

     Third pregnancy, and I had high hopes.  Twenty-six weeks went by, twenty-seven...we made it to thirty-seven!  No major glitches either, until we got to the delivery room.  You had to throw HELLP syndrome into the mix, making the hospital staff scramble once again, only this time to keep me alive.  After two traumatic births, I promised the nurses that the next time they saw me, it would be to make sure you didn't get the chance to botch a delivery ever again.  I kept that promise a year later, thanks to day surgery and two little plastic clips.

     We had a few minor hiccups after that, but nothing serious.  You gifted me with a blessedly easy and early menopause, maybe to make up for your previous misbehavior.  I thought we would ride off into the eternal sunset together as a complete package.

     But it wasn't to be.  A simple annual physical exam unearthed what you'd been hiding--a grapefruit sized fibroid I've since named Gertie, since she's got me swollen as a five-month pregnancy.  You gave her a couple of walnut-sized cousins, too.  I can't help thinking this is partially my fault, for not showing you more love and appreciation over the years.  After all, you did give me two wonderful children, for which I will always be grateful.  Maybe it's because I've been stifling my creative pursuits and working under stressful conditions; I know both aren't good for our sacral chakra.

     Whatever the cause, it is time to part ways.  I am a little worried about the space left when you are gone, both physically and emotionally.  There are side-effects that I hope will disappear along with you.  And maybe I will learn my lesson and practice a bit more self-love and self-expression. 

     So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye.  It's been real, reproductive system.  Thanks for the memories--Chris  

SOLSC '26 Day Eight: To and from the loo

 

Thirty-one walks, thirty-one posts.

Today's walks are brought to you by....

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(And going, and going...)

SOLSC '26 Day Seven: Walking the aisles

 

Thirty-one walks,  thirty-one posts.

"Come shopping with me,  so you can get your stuff," my husband said. I was in a bad mood, because I couldn't find a gift card I wanted to use at Hallmark; the last thing I wanted to do was go to the grocery store.  I had a library book on hold that needed to be picked up and his birthday cards and gift to buy.  His birthday is on Friday, and there's a good chance I still won't be able to drive then.

"Fine," I said, "but we need to be back by three. I have things to do, the kids are going to a movie, and Dexter shouldn't be left alone."

(Dexter is our granddog; our daughter is visiting for the weekend,  helping me celebrate my birthday and prep a bit for my upcoming surgery.)

So I went to the grocery store. I spent way too much time trying to decide on which feminine hygiene product to buy; it's been twelve years since I had to visit that aisle. A new toothbrush was easier to locate. The body wipes, not so much, but we eventually saw them on a top shelf.  

I hurried through the frozen foods and grabbed the microwave meals I had on the shopping list.  I hardly ever eat those, but I can't see myself cooking this coming week.  A box of brown sugar Pop-Tarts found its way into the cart, a post-op reward.  (Okay, maybe a pre-op treat, too.)

My husband continued shopping for the usual groceries while I headed to the cereal aisle for a couple of high-fiber choices.  Gotta keep things moving after anesthesia and pain meds!  Soup aisle was next, for some more easy meals.  A tray of pre-sliced cheese squares to go with crackers was on my list, too.

I gave my husband the twenty minute warning as we entered the produce section.  By this time, I was feeling overstimulated and exhausted by decision making, so I stayed with the cart and pushed it from aisle to aisle,  zoning out until the fruit and veggies were chosen.

The Universe must have been witnessing my discomfort--my husband spotted a register with only one cart checking out, and they were almost done. We were out of the store and home right at three o'clock.

After all that aisle-walking, I  was tired...and fell asleep sitting up on the couch, Dexter snuggled next to me.

SOLSC '26 Day Six: Seven-thirty p.m.

 

Thirty-one walks, thirty-one posts.

It only takes the creation of sub plans for an educator to realize just how much work they really do.  I've spent the better part of the last week preparing to be away from my circulation desk not for a day, but for three weeks. 

A full month, really, with Spring Break thrown into the mix. A month with book orders due, a quarterly snapshot, finances to balance, and two different schedules to juggle. I'm missing a district reading event, my last before I retire.  

To plan for these weeks, I've been working late almost every night. Tonight I finally walked out the door at seven-thirty. Sub plans are made and shared. Negatives are cleared from the finances. The quarterly snapshot is done and in the queue, read-alouds are labeled and next to the reading chair. My desk is cleared...well, somewhat clear.

I've never taken this much time off from work. It felt weird walking out of the library this evening,  knowing that I won't be back until April sixth at the earliest. 

I guess I could consider this a trial run for my retirement. 

SOLSC '26 Day Five: Last trimester

 

Thirty-one walks, thirty-one posts.

I walked into my last trimester today.

Okay, maybe I will get lucky and live a few years beyond ninety like most of my grandparents.  But I doubt I 'll hit a hundred and twenty, so let me restate.

I walked into my last full trimester today.

If you've followed this blog from the beginning,  you know its name comes from my mother's untimely passing from ALS.  She didn't make it to her third trimester. As of today, I'm gifted with nine more years than she got to experience life. Nine more years with my husband and children. Nine more years to grow and learn and serve and love. Nine more years of sunrises and sunsets, hugs and kisses, sights and sounds. 

Nine more years of learning who I am and who I want to be. 

Sixty is starting off with some health challenges,  but they are manageable and will be overcome within a month, I hope.

Sixty will be discovering who I am beyond the labels of teacher and school librarian, reigniting my sense of purpose and service in a new work environment. 

Sixty will hopefully remember how to play, even while working.

Sixty will be more careful choosing when and where I expend my time, money, and energy.

Sixty will be taking more walks, and not just from home to car to work to car to home, like today, because Sixty is tired of sixty hour workweek.

Do you think of your life in trimesters? Do you measure by years, or are there different markers?  Which one are you in? What are you looking forward to being and doing in the last trimester of your life?

SOLSC'26 Day Four: Too many tabs

 

Thirty-one walks, thirty-one posts.

I work with very kind colleagues,  the kind that ask "How are you doing?" when passing in the hall or through the library. 

My most common answer these past two weeks has been "I have too many tabs open", tapping my head.  They nod in solidarity.  It seems as soon as one task or reminder is completed,  two more replace it.

• Lesson plans
• Sub plans for three weeks
• Pre-op appointments 
• Bills to pay
• Gifts to buy
• Reading contest details
• Pre-op instructions
• T-shirts to decorate
• Financial tasks to wrap up
• Email reminders to schedule
• Morning broadcasts for next week
• Housecleaning to do
• My surgery on Monday
• Stuff to bring home
• Getting my bloodshot eyes looked at
• Whether or not I have time to polish my nails 
• Newsletters to write and schedule 
• And oh, turning sixty tomorrow. 

My walks today at work were around the library and to and from a portable to assist with a math class.  After work, they were in and out of my car and the optometrist's office, grocery store, and birdseed store.  At home, I watered my plants on the front porch and counted six junebugs who obviously didn't see "March" on the calendar, crawling and flailing by our front door.

I thought I could get rid of at least three tabs tonight. I'll have to settle for one or two, and hope to be in bed before eleven pm.

SOLSC '26 Day Three: Worm Moon

Thirty-one walks, thirty-one posts.

Tonight's walk was a short one: out the front door, around the side of the house, and into the backyard. 

My steps were cautious.  Our yard is anything but level, with swells and divots from burrowing insects and the roots of long-dead-and-gone trees.  Hazardous in daylight, doubly so in the dark.

I paused and looked to the night sky, focusing on the full moon just rising through the trees.

Photo by Christine Margocs,  3.3.26.

Under the light of the Worm Moon, I took several deep, cleansing breaths,  grounding myself and releasing the tension in my jaws and shoulders. I said goodbye to Orion, waiting with his celestial sword across the sky, and headed indoors, back to my to-do list.