After laparoscopic surgery, performed by the walking Goddess of things “hyster-”, Dr. Catherine Allaire, involving only four little incisions that will leave much tinier scars than those that I ripped myself, into my arms and legs, five and a half years ago, I am uterus-free! This means I will be pain free for the first time since I was fifteen years old 
. Once I’ve healed, I will never need to take an opiate painkiller again…well, hopefully not until I’m much, much older. I have a Lupus antibody, but not full-blown Lupus – I learned this when the bloodwork was done pre-surgery, along with the fact that my blood-type is “A+” – so I might get arthritis early, but I’ve got one perfect grade that no one can take away from me, literally 
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As mentioned in my last post, my dad is here to take care of me. Yes, our extended visit got off on a rocky start. However, after a mini-breakdown, he has come to realize just how much I think and care about him, even when I’m not always in touch with my family. In turn, I’ve realized the same is true of him. Together, we’re a damn strong team 
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I emote through emoticons because I feel a whole lot right now. Primarily, relief. I can get on with my life now. I can go to college this fall and not worry about having to be absent for a week each month because of crippling pain, due to endometriosis and uterine myomas. Women of British Columbia – if you suffer from a fair bit more pain than most during your periods, ask your doctor for a referral to see Dr. Allaire at the UBC Centre for Pelvic Pain and Endometriosis. I was uncannily lucky to be referred by a physician at Simon Fraser University’s health clinic as soon as I moved here, to Vancouver – I now see this as one of the only positive things that came out of my attendance at the business, I mean, educational institution 
. Dr. Allaire and her colleague, Dr. Williams, have opened the third centre in the world that women like me, and perhaps like you, can get help at. Women should not have to suffer inordinate pain. These women physicians know how to help. Surgery is always a little scary, and sometimes a lot, but it is far, far better than suffering through decades of pain. The centre was founded on this value, and if I ever have enough money to donate to a hospital, I know where it’s going.
There will not be a whole lot going on in my life for the next couple of weeks. I want desperately to walk to the dollar store five blocks away, but I’m under strict orders not to walk farther than to the other side of my apartment…to the magick garden, where plenty of magick is blooming. I managed to get my hands on three of the pots of the twenty or so that I had to leave behind with nasty roommates when I made the egregious and expensive error of leaving Vancouver temporarily last fall that ended in disaster – evidently, those roommates were evicted (I was warned not to sign a lease with them by my building manager when I moved in – I saved them from one eviction notice, but after they kicked me out, they were not able to keep things under control, I suppose, “things” being domestic disturbances ad nauseam 
) and left behind three of my big pots. Magickally, one of those pots held the “Shirley” tulip bulbs I planted last fall (white with purple veins, to commemorate my mom, who shared their name during her time on Earth) that have now sprouted up next to some of my favourite plants in my new garden, my new garden, permanence – another new feature of the life of this 26 year-old who is giving up her nomadic ways. I’ve found home in my beautiful little bachelor suite, and I plan on keeping this address for several years.
Permanence, stability, and the absence of pain. These three elements of my “new life” – and anyone who has had major surgery will probably get this, how life feels quite “new” afterwards – are certainly not easy, they’re slippery. However, I plan to cling to them as hard as I can, as both my garden and I keep blooming.
Your support (I’ve gotten a whole lot of it on facebook from long-time readers who have become close friends – you know who you are! – where, as I’ve said before, you can look me up – Scars Are Stories – last I checked there was only one! ) means the world to me, and is no doubt helping me along with a speedy recovery so that I can walk a little farther each day, until I do not have to count my steps anymore, walk into my future with the lessons of my past in my back pocket, along with a camera and a pen.
scars XO
…and writing. I do not plan to be consumed by one career, please no, unless it is worth it – for example, if I were to have Big Pharma with their pants half down, I think I would stay to pull them all the way down, and put off writing for a little while.
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– some of the plants require incredibly careful attention to grow properly, like amranth and various flowering sages and black hollyhocks – a hybrid made especially for Thomas Jefferson’s garden – so, I assumed that half-broken pots left by the garbage were the ones I’d heard about – indeed, us East Van peeps spread the word quickly, especially when cool free stuff is being offered. What were a bunch of plants in crappy condition doing by the garbage anyhow, when their owner certainly has more than about 12 square feet (my patio size) to make a little ecosystem/art out of them? They looked like they had been chosen by an interior decorator to boot. Plants that you literally don’t have to touch, ever, and will be fine, but don’t really have that “wow” effect when walking by because of genetic modification. Thus, I was interested in free pots, not plants. I didn’t realize I was in the wrong spot or that this little pocket of greed existed around the bend from my place. 
– as evidence of …? That you were acting like an asshole? To be printed in the Sun alongside the red-headed garden pot thief on page two? :confused Give me a break, citizen cop.) even though you were following me in a black Lexus sedan – you’re not very scary, and apparently not very “street smart”, something you may want to practice up a little as you’re chosen to reside in East Van, not Kits, and around here no matter how many times you repeat the word “shit” to a young woman you’ve never met before, she’s not going to eff off.
A dress from the $5-$10 festival folk designers. A designer sweater obtained via e-bay by someone selling things off from a sample sale in Toronto. 
Check yourself! Really…I know some real punks around here, not just women with strange-coloured hair that think a lot.
At least here at the managed buildings, the manager honours the tenancy agreement and gives 24 hours notice when she will be entering our suite. I was very upset when a notice came that for over a week we had to be prepared for workers to fix our porches for over a week. The magic garden was moved from the porch to a tarp-covered music room, the vines being particularly tricky, as they had latched on to other plants. Next year I will have a wall dedicated to vines. Everything a learning experience, right? No, I was upset. Today the final renovations worker come by, asking if he could paint the patio. I told him I had already put the furniture back out, and wasn’t quite up to moving it again until I was more consious. He asked if he could move it and I told him to go ahead, thank-you! He then stepped out, came back as I was heading back to the bedroom and asked, “Has it already been painted?”
, but this has no negative effect on its beauty…and it’s a perennial, so next year it will be taller and have a new name 
I do not think I’m worthy of the compliment of having created a jungle on my porch, but here are some new pictures of what started with a few pots, seeds, and a newfound love for digging my hands into the Earth. Taking care of the garden has become a ritual for me, that I have found peace in, and a connection with the goddesses and ancestors that have dug long before I came along.
