I knew that I had accidently left my phone at home even though I assured Steve that I had it with me as we left the house earlier that day. As it turned out I had picked up Sarah's phone instead, which looks identical to mine. When Steve's phone rang I figured that there was a reasonable chance that it was for me. I answered.
"Hello, Steve's phone"
The person on the other end greeted me by name and then informed me that she was "Jenny, from day surgery and that Steve was ready to receive visitors. He's dozy but doing okay."
My first thought was that I didn't want to see him when he was all out of it and groggy from the anesthetic. I liked my husband vital and full of life, that was the way that I wanted to see him. I felt myself starting to drag my heels. I had to coax Ellie back into her pram and then hike back up the steep hill to the hospital.
As I commenced my walk I felt a wave of depression descend upon me. Steve had been 'fixed up'. This wasn't some corrective piece of surgery, this was a mutilation, a severing of a key part of him. And not only did it effect him, it was of direct consequence to me. This operation signalled the end of our child bearing days, and even writing about it now, some hours later, that fact still makes me sad.
We are old enough and have four beautiful children to be able to legitimately call it a day. But it still makes me sad to finally say unequivocally that this is it. No more chances of feeling that wonder of a new little life forming in my belly. It is one of the most amazing and incredible things that can happen to your body, and now that will never happen again. I feel I need to mourn. As I walked back to the hospital that is what I did, I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and they weren't from climbing that bloody steep hill either. (Why did they put the hospital at the top of such a big hill?)
I/We knew that the day was coming. After the birth of Ellie, we felt we had to make a decision, that really we can't keep doing this and having babies. Particularly after the hoo ha with me clotting up this time. To have another pregnancy would really be a risk. Logically, the decision is easy. No more babies, lets get 'the chop' and be done with it. Move on, know that there wont be anymore surprises in life. We can plan our future, blah, blah, blah. But, emotionally it is a whole other story.
I left the decision and the logistics to Steve. I really didn't want to have anything to do with it. I knew that the outcome was going to make me sad, so I preferred to sit with denial instead. Then just as it started to look like they had forgotten Steve and his name was never going to come up on the waiting list, we got a call three days ago. Three days ago.
Three days, is not long to finally and emotionally face that this is really going to happen. Three days is way not enough time to get a decent amount of mileage out of teasing and stirring Steve about, manscaping performed by burly Mr Sisters, and what if the surgeon slips? And myriad of other jokes that I and others could make at his expense.
That's what Sarah and I did last night, making jokes about Bellingen and what type of drug fuelled hospital stay he was likely to encounter. Our hilarity brought Evan out to the living room, wondering what we were talking about. When we told him that dad was having a vasectomy tomorrow he was quite taken aback on two fronts. I think he was keen for another baby brother or sister, and he made the comment, that did that then imply they were all mistakes? I get where he is coming from, because I had the same thought myself. By surgically rectifying this having babies thing, it sort of sends a message that our children are a medical problem that needs fixing. Of which they definitely are not.
So now it's done. Unless one escapes before the pipes are clear, no more babies in this family, until the kids decide to start the next generation.
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