I am not emotionally attached to my uterus, not even when I had one. Daily, I am physically reminded of its absence and will have a permanent reminder of the occasion of its removal the likes Boris Karloff would be jealous of.

Being that I only have a couple of noticeable scars prior to this helluva thing I have now (you’d think an alien came outta there and they shrugged their shoulders, said “well…” and stitched me back up).

I have a noticable scar in my belly button from 17 years ago when I spade myself. I had a tubal ligation.

Perhaps that explains why I am not attached to my uterus because I couldn’t have more children anyway. I mean, who would want more?! Don’t get me wrong, I have the greatest kids ever born (of course) but I’m the first to admit they grew into greatness, they weren’t born that way.

When I had my tubal done, I was highly upset about that scar at the time too (they went in laparoscopically through an incision in my navel) . It looked like a ridge of hard skin right at the edge of my belly button. I thought they had ruined it. My belly button is an inny, but not just any inny… it is DEEP. When I was pregnant, it never got totally flat even when I was two weeks overdue and larger than any human I knew (thanks son). I thought I had a beautiful belly button. Still, after the surgery I thought it was ruined with that scar.

Jump ahead 17 years and woah Nelly! there’s a serious scar on my lower abdomen that makes the teeny ridge of scar tissue at my navel look like a booboo. So much for vanity.

To my doctor’s credit, the scar is very low on my pelvis and no one will be the wiser of its presence. Still, I must now construe some sort of great story to tell my grandchildren about that scar. Nothing better when you’re a kid than listening to your grandparents stories (…how’d you lose that finger, Grandpa?)

I can hope that this will be the last of the purposeful scars. It’s a doozie. Trust me. I think I’ve made my quota.