I just spent nearly fifteen minutes typing out a paragraph full of things that I need to accomplish in the next twelve days. It was terribly boring, as it contained phrases like “write script for field trip” and “recycling event” and “dog vacation?”. Anyway, after reading through that 3,293 word paragraph and barely being able to stay awake, I decided to triple click and delete. Your time matters to me.
Why twelve days? In twelve days, a local man will be slicing into me (like one would slice into an Easter ham, except no spiral slicing—just three one-inch-wide gashes, so nothing like an Easter ham at all, really) and pulling out my uterus and my right ovary. He also said something about stitches in my vagina, but I’m not sure how he finished that thought because I was too busy rocking back and forth in my paper gown and screaming out the lyrics to Madeleine.
Anyway. Surgery. Two weeks from today. I’ll be in the hospital overnight, and I’ve heard the recovery goes anywhere from two to four weeks, but a lot of it depends on the amount of endometriosis, and there’s so much stuff to do between now and then, and hardly any of it involves eating good food and laughing about good times. (And by Good Times, I didn’t mean the show, but after typing it, I now have the theme song in my head. And you can have it, too.)
Quick thought: Because we’re hoping to move, we decided to not take piano lessons this summer. Writing that e-mail made me feel sad. I’ve had to write four sad e-mails in the past few days, and sad e-mails they say so much, Elton John.
We went to six open houses last weekend. I really need to stop looking for the perfect house, because the rest of my family is starting to become a bit discouraged with my habit of barely walking through the front door of a house before inhaling deeply and saying, “No. This is not our house.”
I’ve said, “This could be our house.” only two times in the past month. The first house was the house I told you about a few weeks ago. (It’s actually still on the market and I look at it every single day.) The second house was one we saw last weekend. The current owner is a builder of guitars and tables and all sorts of other wooden things and the house was incredible, except for the fact that a highway is being built less than 500 feet away from the back yard fence.
Walking through houses where people are currently living is such a weird thing. Last Sunday we met a dog named Mike, we almost lifted the lid from a slow cooker to stir the little smokies, we cringed at the sight of dirty toothbrushes, and we screamed and ran for our lives when we came across this face in a master bedroom.
We’ll be meeting with a realtor this week to see what we need to do to get our house ready. I’m really hoping she doesn’t mention the word that starts with a P and ends with Aint, because the thought of that makes me want to just say, “This could be our house. Forever.” ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
I know it doesn’t *always* happen, but I did immediately think “This is our house” the first time I walked into what is now our house. I want to see The House That’s Still On The Market. I love house listings.
House hunting is exhausting, trying to wrap your brain around how your stuff would look in new surroundings. Ignoring scary dolls takes a lot of mental effort!
I once nixed a house because I could hear traffic on the highway, so I know what you mean about that one. There may not be a perfect house, but there will be many good ones!
Dirty toothbrushes can’t be worse than the festering diaper pail we came across during our house hunt. Needless to say, that one did not speak to us in a “this is our future home” sort of way.
Creepy.
I think I just found my forever home. But I haven’t even been inside. I just found it using the Realtor app. It’s everything I want, where I want, and now! If I can just get out of this house. It’s near a highway. Trust me, do not buy near a highway. It’s so loud that it makes me sad. Good luck finding your forever home!
I had a Realtor.com addiction for a while there. People sure make some interesting decorating choices, eh? Wow.
Good luck with the surgery! My doctor told me that if I opted for a hysterectomy, she would turn my vagina into a sock. That sounded sort of cozy. (There is a joke in there involving a phrase that means “to act in a cautious, timid, non-committal way” but I’ll be damned if I’m going to make it.)
We found our “this could be the one” house, but we’re not financially ready to buy. We both still drive by it every other day. I think it may wait for us. At least I’m hoping.
Vagina surgery means that you get to eat all the chocolate truffles and have vegan meals delivered to your bed. I have high hopes for lots of things.
I liken house hunting to dating. You don’t always know immediately that this is going anywhere, but you immediately know it isn’t. I got to the point where I would walk in to a house, barely leave the entrance and walk out because I just knew it wasn’t it. That being said, I say hold out for the “this is our house” feeling.
I join the other voices in agreeing to trust your gut and hold out for The Feeling. It’s not even necessarily being picky or having too high standards. It’s just… being very intuitive about what could and should be home.
Please do keep us posted about your surgery. We care about that spiral-cut ham of yours. I’ll be sending my very best vibes your way.
“I really need to stop looking for the perfect house,” NOPE NOPE NOPE. Do not stop looking for the perfect house.
You may not find a place that checks all the perfect boxes, but you should totally hold out for the place that just feels like home. I spent a good part of last summer looking at old, cute places and mentally cutting more windows in. And then I walked into the place I’m moving and said “LIGHT! This is it!” Not one second-guessing freakout. I can’t wait to move next week (eeeeeeek, not started packing yet, but I live in 500 square feet, so…).
I’m with the ones who say you need to feel like a house is right. We’re not talking about an investment, we’re talking about a home — the place where love flourishes and children grow up strong and happy and safe and the four-leggers are content. You’ll know it when you see it, whether it has every little box of “must have’s” checked or not.
Just know that a lot of us are sitting here knowing that your surgery is scary but that you will be so much more healthy and happy when it’s done. Take good care of yourself, eat lots of chocolate to ward away nervous thoughts, and be glad it will be DONE and over with so you can enjoy the search for your next and forever home.
long time reader, never a commenter (I think)! You are going to be so happy. I had mine out on New Year’s Eve eve a Friday, had people over for New Year’s Eve (misguided husband), and he drove me to work on Monday. It was unplanned, but the deductible was met, so I needed to work. The 4th day, I had to make him take me home from work so that I could change into sweats and act pitiful because a friend was delivering a casserole! Take it easier than that, but compared to what you have been experiencing, this will be nothing.
Creepy doll photo reminded me of this…
I had the funniest realtor when house hunting in Toledo Ohio back in the early 90’s. Great sense of humor, but she was spooked by those antiquated furnaces that look like giant octopuses and wouldn’t go down into the basement of older homes until I gave the all clear. One house we looked at together was a big, brick bungalow and I’m pretty sure the basement didn’t pass muster. Can’t quite remember because of what we encountered after that. The house was totally empty, not a stick of furniture on the first floor which I have only a hazy impression of. Next, we made our way up a dark staircase to the second floor, crossed a narrow hall and stepped into a large, light filled, nearly empty room. Here for some reason, I’d like to describe dust motes floating, this is probably just my memory editing for dramatic effect as our focus fell instantly on the only object in the room. Directly across, resting on the hardwood floor at the base of the far wall? A small, gleaming, child’s casket. Squeamish Realtor looked into my big eyes with her big eyes. “Is that what I think it is?” I nodded. We turned. We ran like hell. We pounded down the stairs and out the front door. We really didn’t start breathing again until we were safely inside Squeamish Realtor’s mini van. My theory? Someone really didn’t want that house to sell.
PS best of luck in finding a new home…. And best wishes for a quick recovery and a celebratory glass raised for no more pain, being your own health advocate and finding a doctor who truly listened…
I was on a house hunt in 2012. Everyone told me I’d just know when I found “my” house. I went looking at many houses with and without a realtor. Every weekend, I was out going to any possibility and nothing hit me. A friend told me that their neighbor was moving and offered to get me in touch with them. When I walked in that/my house; I knew. I never make snap decisions and yet that day, in the kitchen, we did a handshake deal on the house. You’ll know. It’s not about compromise, this house isn’t everything I wanted but I knew it was exactly my house.
I hope you find a wonderful house! We moved a couple of years ago and still have unpacked boxes. Next move will be downsizing.
I had/have terrible endometriosis but am symptomless now and for the last 15 years. I saw an ayurvedic dr. and did diet, herbs, meditation etc and luckily it worked for my particular case; within 1 cycle I was pain free. I was desperate before that. I hope that this offers you the same kind of life changing relief from pain and suffering. I’ll be crossing my fingers and sending good thoughts.
Best of luck all around – health,hearth and home.
I have an awesome P Ainter if you need one (reasonable, fast, reliable). Also, 3 houses just went on the market in our subdivision and the lady 2 doors down gives piano lessons in her home. Just sayin’…
I love both the Good Times Song and Sad Songs Say So Much. Like the latter is my favorite from Elton’s. And that doll is frightening me. I am sorry. I hope all will go well with painting, and moving and finding your dream home. And of course with the surgery!
SO glad to hear you have the surgery scheduled; you *deserve* relief from all the “stuff” with which you’ve had to deal on that score!
And yes, you’ll definitely know when it’s the right place. I vividly remember hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter and swinging my legs while thinking how much I would enjoy doing dishes there the first time we saw our first home. And then I remember the crazy discussions about whether we could even possibly begin to afford it. But when we stepped outside and saw three adorable blonde stair-step children from next door standing on the property line grass and saying “are you going to be our new neighbors?” that totally sealed the deal. Two babies and countless happy memories were made in that house; we made the right decision, and when the time comes, you will too :-)