E-mailing with a Southern writer friend
who was about to have back surgery, I tried to think of funny things
to say. Laughter relieves pain by distracting us and by triggering
the release of endorphins, our natural painkillers. I suggested a
humorous anthology of surgery stories. After a few attempts I came up
with the title Lesbians in Stitches. My friend immediately wrote
back, “I’m in!”
It all started with my sweetheart’s
hysterectomy. The first step for me, despite being a college grad and
an English major, was learning to spell hysterectomy, which I did by
using my trusty spell checker. It’s not much of a teacher, but it’s
a great labor saving device. But then, so’s a hysterectomy – a
labor saving device that is, in at least one sense.
Then there was the prep for the
surgery. My poor sweetheart. They had her drinking people Drano for
12 hours. You figure with a major surgery coming up, you can have a
great last meal, like steak and mashed potatoes and NO green
vegetables and then maybe a pint of Dulce de Leche ice cream to
balance your diet with dairy. But alas, she was given a double dose
of two kinds of Drano and they needed an unconscionably long time to
work. Too late she learned she was not invited to her own last
supper.
Hungry, thirsty and with normal
apprehension, my sweetheart directed me to the best spot in the
hospital’s parking facility. She’d developed an intimate
acquaintance with that lot while enduring eight nightmare days of
half-living in my room after I had my left knee replaced last year. I
was determined not to leave her side as I knew it was my sweetheart’s
vigilant presence that saved my life when homeless embolisms decided
to squat in my lungs.
My sweetheart is home recuperating now
and the big news of the day is that her Steri-Strips have all fallen
off and her stitches have been revealed in all their glory. The other
stitches, that is. We were surprised to learn that she’d been
stitched up inside too, and more surprised that those stitches do not
dissolve. They tend to be found on exiting the body. Fortunately, my
sweetheart has been reading posts on www.hystersisters.com, a
woman-to-woman on-line support group, where veterans of the procedure
– and there are many, many, many – write about their experiences
and read what others went through.
Just a few weeks before, another friend
had a double mastectomy. A couple of months before that, yet another
had the same procedure. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I have
enough fingers to count the number of lesbians I know who have
undergone that procedure. Knees, chests, bellies, what lesbians over
a certain age aren’t in stitches?
It’s hard on gay couples to
anticipate surgery, but on the way into the operating room last year,
a Christian nurse asked us if she could pray before they knocked me
out. That kind of knocked me out itself: two dykes getting our souls
prayed over. Or maybe she was praying the doctor would replace the
correct knee.
Seriously, Florida is where, just last
year, a woman fell ill while on a cruise. Her partner was denied
access; the woman died. We were horrified, but when we went in to
register at our Florida hospital, there was absolutely no question.
The forms we filled out let us check “next of kin” and “life
partner.” Wow. I was stunned. Not stunned enough to be wheeled to
the ER, but stunned nonetheless. In 2010, even in Florida, our bond
was recognized and respected.
I was the one the surgeon asked for
when she finished stitching and I was the one who got to stay in the
room to protect my sweetheart from vampires looking to draw blood or
mistakes in medications. When my sweetheart said I was spending the
night, the nurse rolled in a recliner. I couldn’t figure out how to
recline the darned thing until 4:00 AM and then was so wiped out I
slept through the surgeon’s first visit, but I was there, a very
Significant Other.
Our Southern writer friend had her back
surgery yesterday. Her partner texted that all went well. I wonder
how many stitches she had and if they were able to choose “life
partner” on the registration form. I wonder what we will check if,
after we marry, one of us has to get stitched up again. I don’t
want any scalpels slipping at the mention of a lesbian marriage.
Somebody needs to run with this
Lesbians in Stitches anthology idea. What have other dykes gone
through? Knowing lesbian writers, reading one another’s stories
will have us in stitches.
[Editor's Note: Lee Lynch is the author
of over 12 books. Her latest, Beggar
of Love, was called “Lee
Lynch's richest and most candid portrayals of lesbian life” by
Katherine V. Forrest. You can reach Lynch at
LeeLynch@ontopmag.com]
Copyright 2010 Lee Lynch