Boom boom boom boom
I want you in my room
Let’s spend the night together
From now until forever
Boom boom boom boom… music fades away
So this was the musical back drop to my post-surgery dream state…..
And then I woke up .
The operation was over. Like Elvis, my uterus had officially left my building. Yet I’m not sure what was scarier. The thought of my magical now you see me now you don’t uterus gone for ever, or dreaming about the Vengaboys 1999 hit Boom Boom?
And how apt was that song launching its rocket into my dream brain, as not long after, a mysterious figure crept into the dark morning dawn lighting of my hospital room, post the operation. Like a mystical sorcerer about to deliver me an oracle speech of wisdom the figure appeared.
” Who is this mystery man?” I enquired, as the BOOM BOOM song slowly exited my brain. The specialist said the accompanying nurse. It was the special, specialist. Aahh The Specialist. The specialist of women’s caves, and not an Oracle after all. But little did I know that the possible contending Guinness book of records information he was about to share with me, would suddenly see him as some sort of Oracle in my creative mind.
So, let me construct the scene. As I lay half drugged up with pain killers, with flickers of light falling softly like leaves on my eyelids, we all heard a soft drum roll. Unfortunately, this was in fact my bowels begging for release but strangely added to the ambience of the mysterious setting.
Then the moment came, when the specialist proudly announced, “Jules. I have just removed from you a BOOMING UTERUS!!!” Note I later forgave him for not adding the SPECIAL adjective as well.
Follow a shocked filled silence, I spoke, “Pardon?” I replied in the mystical climate, with bed chook bum styled hair and I guess morning breath. It was then he went on to tell me that, according to the theatre gossip, my uterus was a BOOMER! That’s right! Not the generational boomer my son keeps saying I am, but a huge mother blooming booming uterus! Twice the size of a standard uterus. Word from the theatre street was that apparently the nurse sliced it in half, thankfully minus the sugar grapefruit procedure, TO ANNOUNCE to all present, that MY UTERUS WAS LIKE A HAMBURGER UPSIZE. Two for the price of one! Unfortunately, her enthusiasm in slicing my uterus in half to show a normal size, destroyed the balloon recycled idea with some disappointed child crying on a step in the outside world to not ever receive my recycled blown up uterus balloon as a special gift.
I must say in reflection, this was beginning to sound a little like a hospital theatre “show and tell pre -school sharing moment” I guess many things must happen in that operating room when we are out to it, like…” Today I have brought in a giant uterus to show you all”, said the sister, as no doubt the orderly was yawning and picking his nose in the background as little Alan did in preps!
Absorbing all this brand new, news, the major disappointment, was that if only I had known about this extra uterus space earlier, I could have put one side of my uterus accommodation on Airbnb and made some money! A perfect passive uterus income!
What was really disappointing also, was that the special surgeon, silly young special man, forgot to take a photo of my special uterus. That blew any chance of correct sizing for a special knitted bonnet by Beryl who was all ready to go with a knit one pearl in the hospital cafe shop downstairs!
Well at least I could say that this little Boomer boomed a booming uterus! ………Or so I thought!
You see prior to coming into hospital my youngest son, who has officially finished VCAL, has created for himself a new job of official family labeller. Each day, as I’m sure he is convinced is his life mission, he labels every living thing in the house. Maggie the schnauzer has anxiety. Bella the other schnauzer has depression and Milo the labradoodle has bipolar. And me you ask? Well my label is now BOOMER although I’m sure it’s not in the DSM V – Diagnostics Statistical Manual edition 5!..yet!
It appears that certain clothes, statements, eyebrow raises thoughts, feelings, my timing and vocal pitches have qualified me as a BOOMER. And, I guess, we can add to that, an age when some of us say goodbye to our uterus. Not troubled by labels I accepted this. But in writing this my second entry in my DIARY OF A BOOMER, I discovered my son, the labeller, is WRONG (I enjoy being smarter than my smarty pants son, as this is rare in our home). You see I’m a generation X, born in the year 1965! Being born in 1965 to 1976 makes you an X! Apparently, we are like the middle child, a little forgotten, but highly successful, and we are wedged in the criteria associated with the current term, of middle age!
I’m not sure about all these labels really, but I can say X has always marked the spot in my life and probably where the surgeon made his first incision!
Come to think of it, I’m quite thrilled to be an X as it means I can sleep in a star shape in bed , I can look really fit and behave in a little bit of a crazy fashion , as I can do X star jumps where ever I go , and I can twinkle like a little star and ……I’m Xcellent in the eyes of God !
So this little star without a uterus, is mentally ok about this chapter of my life, and I will keep humouring you with my diary, now to be titled, THE DIARY OF A NOT BOOMING X !
So, stay tuned for more of my mental journeys that might get a bit X-ey as I delve into the future.
The End
PS If you’re interested in your own generational label, look below, as it could change your life. NOT
….
Here are the birth years for each generation:
- Gen Z, iGen, or Centennials: Born 1996 – TBD.
- Millennials or Gen Y: Born 1977 – 1995.
- Generation X: Born 1965 – 1976.
- Baby Boomers: Born 1946 – 1964.
- Traditionalists or Silent Generation: Born 1945 and before.