Hysterectomy

On Friday, I went into the hospital to have a few spare parts removed in what my work apparently deemed to be a solely cosmetic procedure based upon their reaction to me taking three weeks off after having a couple of organs removed.  This has got to be one of the most solid adult decisions that I have ever made. I have zero regrets about the surgery. I tried to get my doctor to do some additional rummaging in there to remove any other potentially problematic spare parts, like my appendix or the excess stomach fat I have, but he wasn't as excited about that as I was.  He was more about the fact that a robot named DaVinci was going to be doing the surgery.  This isn't as sexy as it sounds, folks...really the doc is the one controlling it, so it's more like a really big, expensive remote control car.  Or scalpel, if you will.  My sister was all disappointed that it was not an actual robot doing the surgery, but I was kinda glad because I recently had a conversation with a client about when the robots become aware and take over the world, and that woulda just hit a little too close to home for comfort...

Despite her disappointment, my sister did her best to comfort me in my time of need.  She did it in the only way the Lambkins family knows how:  through food and humor.  She totally would have brought me alcohol too, I know she would have, but I was still on the Vicodin at that point and that might not have been a good idea.  Or maybe it would have been a good idea because I keep trying to do shit around the house like laundry and picking stuff up, and if I don't sit my ass down and stay still my lady parts are gonna end up getting further mauled when they have to re-stitch me back together.  But maybe then I could convince the doctor to do some extra nipping and tucking....or perhaps I should have had this conversation with the robot?

I digress.  She made me a cake.  A wonderful, sparkly, purple uterus (because naturally, that was what my uterus looks like.  Duh.). And cupcake ovaries.  With RIP written on the right one because that one was removed. Then she printed off Happy Hysterectomy because she couldn't get it to fit on the cake in frosting.


Here is the inspiration for the cake:

Notice the boring, flesh colors.  Not fun at all.

Here is the actual, far superior cake:

 Purple, sparkly, and fabulous.  It was amazing.

Folks...I come by it honestly.  But in all seriousness...why aren't hysterectomy cakes a thing?  Or cards, for that matter...personally I would like one that says "That wonderful moment, when you realize...you will never have to ever worry about pregnancy again."  Now I realize that not everyone is as excited about reproductive organ removal as I am...but I really feel that there might be an overlooked market here for an aspiring entrepreneur.  

Only downside...the laughter makes your incisions hurt.  But that is where the Vicodin comes in.  And the alcohol.  Just not together, bitchez...safety first!