There's a devil behind that bush

[ReadYourBible]

Poem #2a (Poem 2 fits elsewhere)

There’s a devil behind the bush. As I started writing poems related to menopause, I wanted to take a step back and discuss how this glorious event came about much earlier than anticipated.

I had been gadding about Europe, all over the majority of the UK, up to Aberdeen, back through various villages and cities and then finally to London. I felt alive, happy, free for once in a very, very long time. Vital, and focused for once. I had gone with a couple of other women I knew from the Houston area.

As time came to a close, I felt the anxiety of returning to my home in Canada, returning to the relationship with my husband. I had heavy things in mind but hadn’t made any decisions to that point, yet the anxiety was a telling thing. I could have written it off as a desire to stay on vacation, but I realized it for what it was.

It had confirmed for me what I had known for some time. One of the main causes of stress in my life has and still remains my relationship with my husband. This relationship has never worked, I’ve forced it, prodded it, begged it, cajoled it, kissed it, stroked it, praised it, but it remains the same. Troubled. Its never been a smooth ride, its always been walking uphill backward, with an avalanche coming down.

I came back from London in October, renewed, ready to keep making changes. I asked for a separation in passing, I don’t think either of it took it really seriously, but I think at the time I was serious.

Then ‘it’ happened. I had felt something mobile in my abdomen after I got back from my stress free holiday. I knew it wasn’t normal, so I went to the doctor, who confirmed there was at the time what we thought a grapefruit sized mass in the lower to mid left quadrant of my stomach area.

Ovarian cyst? Fibroid? Cancer? From start to finish, CT scans, MRI, and ultrasound, to the surgical table, took less than two months.

The result, a full abdominal hysterectomy, to remove nine fibroids, one of which we later learned was the size of a watermelon. I’m now in week nine of recovery, and poetry and music seem cathartic in a way.

So, my poem today isn’t really a poem, but a piece of writing.

There’s a devil behind the bush
I lay there in the dark, my eyes open to the blackness of my room,
I could feel that something wasn’t right, as my fingers traced the outline of my womb,
I spoke to you in the darkness and asked you to lend me your hand,
Together we traced the mass that had grown there,
Still, you said nothing, and I wondered if you even cared,
Finally ‘You should go see the doctor’, such a simple statement, at least that’s how I felt,
You dropped me off the next day, and sat inside the car, sure you said it was because of the kids, but let’s face it, I’ve been on my own a lot these days, as we’ve grown apart,
Confirming my findings, away to the ER I went,
You dropped me off again, I suppose I should be thankful for that,
Test after test, feel after feel, not one doctor could decide what exactly what was there, I could only appeal, if it's bad fine, let me know it, if you don’t know say that too, let's formulate a plan of action, and once we come to it, whatever it is we’ll deal.
You dropped me off at the hospital, for the surgery, this time you came in but didn’t stay long, maybe you were unnerved by it, I can’t quite recall,
It was the surgeon who sat with me, in a tiny waiting room for two. He held my hand, our hands clasped upon my knee and he offered the comfort you should have given to me,
As we walked into the operating theatre, I saw all the staff and nurses there, I realized it didn’t matter at this point who was there, and that no matter where you were, there may be a devil behind the bush, but I would never be completely alone.