It's 2:37 am and I've been awake close to an hour and a half. I hate sleepless nites. Well, I do and I don't. I hate waking up with night sweats, which is what awoke me tonite. But Dear Hubby also woke up around the same time and after lying there for a while without either one of us going back to sleep, he got up at 2 and switched off the alarm. Considering his regular "get up" time can be anywhere between 12:45 'til 3:15, 2 am in his schedule isn't all that weird. I'm usually up by 4:15 so it isn't all that weird for me, either, but most of the time when the alarm goes off for him, I stretch out and sleep deeply for another hour or so. But I couldn't go back to sleep myself so I got up as well. When I came out into the living room, where he was sitting in the dark waiting for the coffee maker to finish brewing, he asked, "Are you up, too?" I told him I couldn't sleep so why toss and turn? That aggravates me even more than being sleepless. So he said, with a lot of pleasure in his voice, "Well, then...let's have a slumber party." That's what we do, on our sleepless nites...we have a slumber party. We both grab cups of coffee and sit in the darkened living room together and just...chit chat. We've had some of our best times ever on these nites. There's something about the peacefulness of that time of day, of talking quietly in the dark together, that we both find enjoyable. I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend nites like these together with than Dear Hubby.
Dear Hubby and I hardly ever fight. But on Sunday we'll be celebrating our 34th wedding anniversary and on Wednesday I was wondering if we were going to get that far. I'd say in each decade of marriage we've had one major blowout, and this Wednesday was time for the 30-40 year doozy. And, like most arguments, it was over something completely stupid. But it had both of us so hot under the collar we went our separate ways the rest of the evening and avoided even being in the same room together. He went out back to shoot targets with his longbow. I took Chloe dog for a 2-mile walk. When I got back, he came inside. I went out back and weeded at such a pace I got most of the east side of the yard done. When I went in, he had taken off with Chloe for another walk. The poor dog was exhausted by the time all was said and done. I took that time to get ready for bed, and when the two of them came back inside I was already under the covers. Dear Hubby asked me, "Are we going to continue on like this or what?" and I told him, "I don't know and I don't care." "You don't care?" he asked. And I said no. I. did. not. care. "Fine!" said he, and I heard him head off for the basement, the scrape of his camping cot going across the concrete floor. Then him rattling and banging around as he set it up in his den. When he came back upstairs and thru our bedroom to the bathroom I asked him, "Now isn't that going just a little too far, sleeping down there?" And he said, "You were the one who said you didn't care." And I let out an exasperated huff and said, "Can't I say something like that in a moment of anger? I didn't mean it. Of course I care." Which settled him down a bit. Which settled me down a bit. And by the time he'd brushed his teeth and climbed into bed we were at least civil with each other and cooled down enough to talk it thru and go to sleep with a truce between us. Oy.
It has been 2 1/2 years since I began my road-to-hysterectomy odyssey. I suffered my first major uterine hemorrhage on January 6, 2006. Since that time I've undergone so many biopsies, ultrasounds, pokings & proddings, D&c's, no periods, endless periods, and a million different emotional upheavals dealing with it all that I've lost count. And then, in April, I had a complete hysterectomy. I went into immediate full menopause. I've had two procedures since then where the doctor has had to remove granulated scar tissue that was forming on my deep incision area. Then cauterize it. I've forgotten what it feels like to not have pain of some sort in the 'nether regions' of Lady Land. Finally...finally!!! I went in for another post-operative exam yesterday and my body has finally decided to cooperate and begin to really heal. I've quit 'producing' my own scar tissue. No more procedures. And my doctor, as she handed me a prescription for estrogen patches to help with the menopausal side effects I'm having as my body readjusts to change one more time, smiled and said, "Now, I don't plan on seeing you for a year now!" I told her I don't plan on seeing her, either. And now may that actually become true. I've had more doctor visits in the past 2 1/2 years than I think I'd had in my entire lifetime prior to all this happening. Enough is enough.
And now maybe Dear Hubby and I will get back to a 'normal' life, whatever that is. Baby steps, I tell him. Reconnecting. It's been such an emotional and physical roller coaster for me, but it hasn't been any picnic for him, either. But married life is like that. You go thru easy years where the general scope of things is pretty smooth sailing. Then you come across patches like this where you both shut down and just cope with it, a day at a time. That's all you can do. But marriage is kind of like the phases of the moon...it ebbs and it wanes. It goes thru its cycles. Sometimes there's no moon at all. But it's still there; it comes back. A little at a time. Until it's full and glorious and lights up the sky once again.