When my best friend E. and I were in the ninth grade, her mother underwent a hysterectomy. We had only the sketchiest notion of the purpose of a hysterectomy, and this was a time long before “googling†had entered the lexicon. The truth was that we didn’t really care to investigate the medical literature, which would have entailed prying the heavy, musty encyclopedia from where it sat, wedged in tightly between other equally heavy and musty reference books on the shelf. We knew that a hysterectomy was a surgery performed on women for some kind of womanly trouble, and that was all we wanted to know.
A few days after E.’s mother’s surgery, E. and I met up after school and took a train to what was then called Columbia Presbyterian, a huge hospital complex at the top of Manhattan, to visit Mrs. K. E. had begged me to accompany her. She hated hospitals, she’d told me. The smell of them made her nauseated. At the time, I didn’t have any particular associations, negative or positive, with hospitals; the bulk of my recent experience had been accrued by watching Trapper John, MD. So it was without hesitation that I’d agreed to join E.
When we walked into Mrs. K.’s room, we were reasonably well composed (for fourteen-year-olds, anyway). Mrs. K. looked pale, and thin, but more or less as she had two weeks earlier when I’d spent the night at E.’s house.
But then E. started jabbing me with her elbow and pointing. I looked where she was directing me and spied a bag of urine, which was filling up slowly but perceptibly. E.’s eyes were wide and horrified. She looked as if she were seconds from exploding with nervous laughter. I feared I was close to losing it myself. Not knowing exactly what to do to stop this runaway train, I acted impulsively. I pinched E., hard. “Why’d you do that?,†she yelped. I shrugged, but later, when we were stuffing ourselves at the hospital’s snack bar, I told her that I thought her mom’s feelings might have been hurt if she (and I) had laughed. And, as only a best friend will do, she understood and forgave me.
Here’s the thing.
In six weeks I’ll be undergoing my own hysterectomy.
I don’t want my boys, six and ten, to be embarrassed when they come to visit me.
I want to prepare them in a way that eases their fears and at the same time provides them with just enough information so that they’re not thrown for a loop when they walk through the door of my hospital room.
So I could use some advice.
How do you think I can best prepare them for what’s to come?
[tags]kids, children, parents, parenting, hospital, hysterectomy, preparation, psychological, feelings, emotions[/tags]
Photo graciously provided by yosoyjulito, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved
6 responses so far ↓
IntheFastLane // Feb 28, 2008 at 11:58 am
I read your other post 1st and responded, not having read this one yet. I think the best thing is to be straightforward as much as possible about why and what. The uncertainties don’t need to be shared. And then, closer to the time you will be in the hospital you might let them know about some of the things they might see and why those things (ie, bag o’ pee) are there. You might even be able to find some books that might be helpful to them.
You have such thoughtful, sensitive boys that I am sure you want to be careful not to impart anything that might cause them worry, but I think the facts (as age appropriate) would actually alleviate some of the worries they might have.
slouching mom // Feb 28, 2008 at 12:10 pm
Here’s the thing, though, ITFL. My main concern is that they are spared from linking womanhood to pain/blood, know what I mean?
Maybe that’s sexist of me, I don’t know. Or maybe it doesn’t give them enough credit. But they’re still young, and what they learn about what it means to be a woman is coming exclusively from me at the moment.
It’s the same reason why I haven’t shared with them yet that women get periods. They seem to have a built-in, primitive fear of blood, and I don’t want them to make the association between something that frightens them and being female.
IntheFastLane // Feb 28, 2008 at 1:00 pm
OK - I understand what you are saying. Does this have to be linked to womanhood? I would think that an age appropriate explanation might include some details, such as the fact that a part of your body is not working right and is causing you pain and making you not feel good. So it is going to have to be taken out. It does not need to be exclusively a “woman’s” condition, and maybe compare it to when Ben had his tonsils out because they were not working right and made him get sick and made his throat hurt.
slouching mom // Feb 28, 2008 at 2:34 pm
Thank you, ITFL. That’s helpful.
Blooming Desertpea // Feb 28, 2008 at 2:54 pm
I have read the other one and commented before I read this one, either, but it is still valid here too and I seem to be travelling in the same track as ITFL. Not knowing what is wrong with their mother can actually be more scary than the knowledge of what is and what will happen, without going into details of possible complications.
And I agree with ITFL that it doesn’t have to be linked to womanhood.
Just something for you to ponder: My 10 yr old boy does know what a period is, why women have it, that it is a natural thing and that sometimes it can pain the abdomen - he seems to be unconcerned about it. I could imagine it being the same with your boys - of course, each told as much or with the appropriate words according to their age.
Meg // Feb 29, 2008 at 12:03 pm
How about approaching them from a : Some really cool things happen when you have surgery- like the pee bag and anesthesia and even some things that might not exactly fit here- or cool animal surgery facts like this: http://www.lbah.com/reptile/cdtbladderstone.htm#intro
With the goal of talking generally about surgery so that they are more comfortable when you talk about you.
Not that you’re a tortoise…
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