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Image of Amy Bowers

Amy Bowers

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The polyps in my uterus keep getting compared to food (or things that remind me of food). They are sesame seeds, an M&M, a thumb, a stalk. A thready device with a camera, knife, and mouth is going to locate, cut and suction out the disagreeable growth that is disrupting things.

But everyone is so nice.

They tell me what is happening at every moment, introduce themselves as members of my team, give me reclining chairs, temperature controlled gowns, hands-on shoulders, and hands-on hands and diet Pepsi. They help me tie my gown, put my hair up in a cap, pull on underwear and itch my nose when my arms are strapped down.

They do safety checks nonstop. You are? “Amy Bowers.” Date of birth? “6-16”. Who is here with you? “David.” Do you understand what procedure you are here for? “to get a polyp removed.”

In the OR people swirl around me and I flashback to my three c-sections. One easy, two a little unhinged due to the extreme size of my children and their heads. Masked faces pop up close to mine.

“I am (fill in a proper noun)”

“I am here to (fill in a verb that relates to someone doing something to your body)”

My blood pressure is high although I don't feel scared, just unbelievably sad. I want to cry for bodies’ fragility. For the fact that I am not here to have a baby and in fact, my children are swiftly becoming adults. I want to cry because I am having pieces of my body cut off. I want to cry because I, and not all, have the means to this level of medical self-care.

A few years ago, I had a small bump on my nose cut off. (There is a theme of my body growing more than it needs, a biological affluence if you will). On its way to the lab, it was lost. I spent a melancholy week wondering what happened to that little slice of me in its rheumy specimen jar. It was sent out to the world never to be heard from again.

Maybe I am too sentimental. I feel the itch of nostalgia like a drag on a cigarette after a decade of not smoking.

Even when I a writing this recollection, the nurse calls to make sure I am doing OK. She reviews again, the warning signs of potential problems and tells me who to call if I find myself in trouble. She wishes me a speedy recovery and we both go on with our days.

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