I know posting's been light lately, but I have a good excuse. I had surgery. Elective, same-day, drug-me-up-then-send-me-home surgery, but still surgery. A tubal ligation, to be specific. It was this past Friday, and I'm recovering well, though I still feel quite a bit like I've been kicked in the belly by a very angry mule. For those of you unfamiliar with fallopian tubes, I provide this illustration, from the 1918 edition of Gray's Anatomy (which you may have to click on to see, because it's not cooperating with me):
vasectomy, due to his cardiomyopathy, among other fascinating reasons. We could've stayed on the pill, or some variation thereof, but as a woman over 35 with a family history of early massive stroke, I'm not exactly the kind of girl that birth control companies are hoping to reach.
So we have our reasons, and made our choices. I felt surprisingly bad, though, because I have a few people close to me who want very much to become pregnant. It seemed wrong, somehow, to undermine our own (potential) fertility when I have friends and family who so want to experience the very thing I'm trying to avoid. I know, it's not like my fallopian tubes have any impact on their pregnancies, but still. I mean, I know I couldn't do surrogacy, so it wasn't that, but it just seemed cosmically...rude, somehow.
Finally, I realized that, like my Peter Falk Lazy Eye theory, perhaps there's only so much fertility in the universe, and by handing in our fertility card, maybe we could free some up for the rest of the world. So that's what we've done. May the baby making begin! In other people's uteri, I mean.