Warning: Strong language ahead.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Lift your voices loud and clear, oh daughters of the sky; let us sing in unison, as our ovaries wither and die.

Yup, here on the Concord River, the ovaries are disappearing faster than the ducks when a hawk arrives.

First Stew, poor little wabbit went to the vet to be neutered. Much to my surprise, Stew is female! Who knew? Goodbye ovaries, hello unhappy rabbit. Identity issues aside, she was pissed–and in pain. Ever try to give an angry rabbit pain medication? My advice, take a little yourself because when they bite, damn it hurts.

“Come near me with that syringe and you’re toast.”

She’s doing better now that some of the other rabbits were sent away. Seems having her ovaries removed made her want to rip out their throats. I wonder if it works that way for humans.

Yup, you got it. Mine are gone, too. Ain’t no lie; ovaries bye, bye, bye.

My surgery was fours days ago. The doctor also took the Fallopian tubes, uterus, and cervix and a bit of vagina for good measure. All gone. Bing, bang, boom. The procedure is called a radical hysterectomy.

You might as well learn something while you’re here.

At this point I should probably type, ‘It was radical, dude!’

No need to get hysterical about it.

Hey, did you know that’s where the word hysterectomy comes from? Hysterical, which belongs to hysterika, the Greek word meaning uterus. Some stuffy, ancient Greeks believed the uterus caused women to become hysterical.

Couldn’t have had anything to do with living with stuffy, ancient Greek men. Of course not.

There’s an upside to getting a hysterectomy. I’m not supposed to lift anything heavy. Thank goodness a quart of ice cream comes well under the weight restriction. Also, I’m not supposed to vacuum.

From where I’m sitting, it’s a win-win.

Of course the ducks are none too happy. The corn is getting distributed in dribs and drabs. Oh well, they’ll survive.

I suppose I should address the loss of my ovaries since life with them has been such a whirlwind of joy! I mean, come on, who doesn’t love staying awake all night with cramps strong enough to bring down a T-Rex? Or dashing to the ladies room in a panic because… well, you can figure that one out? Or, spending a king’s ransom on feminine products? Damn, let’s do it all again.

Nope, no sad goodbyes on the Concord River. Time for a happy dance. Once I can dance, that is.

Blessed be :}