A room. Four walls, two windows, and a closet. It is just a room.
Except that it isn’t. These four walls that symbolized much more.
When Rocket and I first started looking for a new house we thought about what we needed. What we wanted in a kitchen, how many bedrooms we would need, etc… It was at that time that we decided that a new house should have an extra bedroom, for a future “expansion baby.” Yes, you read right. Expansion Baby. We even nicknamed Expansion Baby, “Eb.” It was Rocket’s phrase, and although it struck me as “strange” at first, I did come to adopt the phrase. And so we looked, for a house with four bedrooms. One for us, one for Principessa, a guest room, and another room to be used as a guest room–or hopefully, a potential room for Expansion Baby.
We found our house of course. With four bedrooms. The “expansion baby” room was turned into a guest room-office for me. I picked a sandstone textured paint color, decorated it to be a soothing place for both guests and for me…and figured that one day, when and if the time came for Expansion Baby, we would repaint and remodel.
The time for Eb never came. We tried. But, my body did not cooperate. And so, the room for Eb remained a guest room/office for me.
The room sits, four walls, and an antique desk that was my great grandmother’s. It is a great desk, but not all that comfortable for writing. A desk that while it is lovely, is not functional.
Just like my female organs.
On Tuesday, I will be losing the organ that would in theory have been home to an Eb for nine months, at the hands of my doctor and his surgical team. I will leave the hospital one day later, down an organ and one part, (uterus and a cervix) because my body decided to house cells that though they were not doing anything yet, could have turned on me at any time. Not to mention the fact that instead of acting like a 37 year old body in the prime of it’s life, has decided that being “fully functional” is overrated. They call it peri- menopause. Aka early menopause.
I will come home the next day, one organ and one part down, to my house with four bedrooms. One of which is not functioning the way that we had hoped it would, a little bit like the ovaries that will continue to call my body their home, despite their lack of work ethic.
So I will do what I know how to do. I will prepare. Not for surgery. Not for lost organs. But for my future. For the future that I am dreaming of as a full time work at home woman. By buying a new desk. A desk that will be functional. For a room that will no longer be a possible space for an Eb, or even for a guest. For a room that will be transformed into a space just for me. A home office. Mine…beautiful and functional.
Which is why, on the eve of my surgery, I will be heading to Ikea to look for the desk that will help me transform the space. Because clearly, spending an evening at Ikea is the most relaxing way that I could choose to spend my last hours with soon to be taken out organ and part. Call it an act of defiance, call it me trying to make up for the fact that I have not worked out in almost a month and won’t be for another six weeks…call it me trying to find something to make me think of the future instead of the organ and body part that I will soon be without. Not that I will miss my cervix. And really, I am not on a first name basis with my uterus. But somehow, the idea of going to buy a new desk and new light fixtures and who knows what else, will be “doing something” proactive. To make life about me. To start living a dream that is mine, that will be mine to make fly.
And somehow, that act of defiance…of spending money on my future, ignoring the fact that one day later doctors will making holes in my abdomen, inserting tubes and who knows what else, will be enough. Enough to celebrate the life that I do get to live. Enough to pretend that the removal of the organ that could have been home to the life was not meant to be does not make me sad. Enough. Enough. Enough.
Or so I will tell myself.