She asks me if I would like to take off my underwear and hands me my washed-out surgical gown, which strongly smells of natural vinegar. I fasten the buttons together so it takes the shape of a robe and pull it over my bare body.
A shiver runs down my spine, and my hands and feet feel cold and clammy. In a few minutes, I will be having surgery. I am about to say goodbye to my uterus.
She carried my two children. She endured one molar pregnancy and one abortion after sexual trauma. She lost a lot of blood and carried me through the most intense pain I have ever experienced.
Goodbye, beautiful organ. Hello, better life.
Today you will be removed through surgery because I have diffuse adenomyosis. This means that tissue similar to the lining of the uterus grows scattered throughout the muscle layer of the uterine wall, causing abnormal and painful bleeding since the beginning of my menstruation.
The gynaecologist is a woman today. She has gentle life lines across her face, and strands of grey hair shine through her brown hair. Her round eyes look at me kindly, and she softly asks if I have any special requests.
I ask if she can preserve my uterus so that I can bury her.
I pull a very serious face and firmly keep my jaws together.
“Well, um, Mrs Schellekens… I could take a photo of it?”
I burst into laughter and giggle that I was only joking. I see the surgical team relax and carefully laugh along.
“You wouldn’t believe the kind of requests we receive on this operating table every day,” she says with a smile. “Are you ready for a beautiful dream?”
I nod and let my thoughts drift to my children and my husband, my everything. There are no words that can express how deeply I love these beautiful souls in my life.
I feel the anaesthetic, pain medication, and muscle relaxants entering my body. A warm and heavy blanket seems to press me into the operating table, and my back is soaked with nervous sweat.
“Here I go again. See you soon, doctor,” I hear myself mumble.
“The surgery went well, Mrs Schellekens. You really need to stay still for a moment.”
Sharp waves of pain shoot through my back and abdomen, and I gasp for air. A wave of nausea rises into my throat, and I throw my head over the side of the bed. The smell of bile fills my nose and burns my throat.
A nurse lifts my gown and injects something into my abdomen.
“There you go, this will make you feel better.”
The room starts spinning, and I close my eyes.
A film begins to play behind my closed eyelids.
A story about a shy little girl who wants to return to her mother’s womb. She finds life terrifying and searches for safety in her mother’s arms. She curls herself into a tiny ball, like a baby, and stays as still as possible.
Her mother gently brushes the hair away from her face and says: “Sweet Janneke, you are really getting too big to sit on my lap like this. Why don’t you go outside and play with your friends?”
A blonde nurse wearing pink lipstick, smelling of citrus and cedarwood, gently wakes me up.
“You really need to stand up and walk now, just to see if you can do it,” she says firmly.
I look at her with wide eyes.
Is this a dream? Do I really have to stand? Or has this nurse completely lost her mind?
I ask if I can try tomorrow instead, but she does not give me any room for negotiation.
“The sooner you stand, the sooner you can go home.”
She moves my legs towards the edge of the bed and raises the bed into a sitting position.
I scream. I cry. I hyperventilate. And I faint.
What incredible pain.
After a lot of morphine, I am sitting in a wheelchair on my way home.
Her mission is complete. Patient Mademoiselle Schellekens is home within 24 hours.
And my mission?
I am allowed six weeks to recover and regain my strength. From my bed, I work on new underwear designs, including the Taille Comfort Plus.
I specifically designed this model for women with extremely sensitive skin. It is made without lace and from 95% pure bamboo. The elastic around the waist and in the intimate area is even softer, and the gusset extends slightly further at both the front and back.
During my recovery, I felt a strong need to wear this model myself. I tested it extensively from my bed, and I am incredibly proud of the beautifully soft result.
Once again, I will come out of this stronger. My most difficult periods always bring me the most valuable insights.
As my father always says: “After rain comes sunshine.”
And I will make sure the Pavone sunshine shines brightly for you again. This time, with a little extra warmth for the woman who is currently going through her own rainy season. Everything will be okay again.
