2005-06-24 :: 3:36 a.m.

once there lived in the wall of my womb a simple muscle cell. well, there were a lot of them really. i mean there are. one of them, sometime some months or years ago, got it lodged into its cellmind the idea to go a little crazy. to mutate and multiply and turn itself into a planetoid. a place that made its own bloody weather systems, that made my abdomen swell and ache, that shoved aside all the true organs that really belonged inside that region of the flesh container. so this muscle-cell planetoid, this fibroid tumor, started really making trouble, inching toward the ten centimeter mark. asking for its picture taken. getting a name. calling, finally, to be removed from my womb wall.
so on monday morning, at 6 o'clock, i will check into the hospital and undergo abdominal surgery. incisions through my muscles, nudging aside the bladder and the skin, to reach the anterior wall of my uterus. where this large mass will be removed. the verb they use is "shell." we will shell the fibroid. i will remain there for several days. i will be subnormal for several weeks. i feel sick when i think of scalpel slicing across my soft belly. my fleshy underside, turned over unprotected. my packet ruptured.
we used to talk of our bodies as well-calibrated, complicated containers. that could so easily engender harm, split and rupture and begin to spill. "soy intacto," we'd assure ourselves. no breakage, no liquids spilling forth. we are intact and we are whole. we are contained here in our selves.

there's a rotten bit inside my container and it will be dug out. it is breaking for an hour, then this packet will be sewn whole again.

i really can't describe just how anxious i am.

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