You may wonder what this machine is and why it's relevant to a hysterectomy.  It's not.  I don't know what it is.  It was in my hospital room prior to my surgery.  The reason I took a photo of it is that...

...it has a hose and...

... apparently you don't hook that hose up to your crotch, okay?

In between the short stay room where you are originally checked in and the actual surgery, you wait in sort of a pre-surgery waiting lounge with about five other patients (you're separated by curtains).  They ask you important last minute questions here and make sure you're really who they think you are and that everybody is on the same page as far as what body parts you should be leaving with and which ones you ought to be leaving behind.

I forgot I was totally bald at this point until I started putting this page together.  This is a really frightening photograph to me... I look so ill.  I didn't feel nearly as ill as I look.

I'm almost positive that that's my belly button.  The small part of me that isn't is why I'm glad someone else was in charge of removing my uterus.

Record this moment in history, ladies and gentlemen: the very last time a member of the opposite gender was ever messing around between my legs.

This is very similar to the face that I make when I finally manage to untangle the Christmas lights.

Okay, in addition to the photographs that were taken for me with my camera, there were also internal cameras running (due to the nature of the surgery and the small incisions).  I was able to snag a few of these photos (the surgical team was very understanding of my project).  The basic idea of this type of surgery is that (I believe) the uterus and other bits are clamped off, separated from the rest of you, and then fed into a garbage-disposal type tube that grinds them up so they fit through that tiny incision.

Five dollars says she's wondering where the remote is.

This is the aforementioned garbage disposal tube thingy, and that's my reproductive system being fed into it.

Oh my god, I did not notice this until just this minute when I was writing out the captions, but there is a SMILEY FACE in my uterus.  There, in the bottom right corner, that is totally not okay.  Apparently as happy as I was to be done with my uterus, it was just as happy to be done with me.  What kind of sinking ship am I that my uterus would rather commit suicide than stick around in there?  Hah.

The room they put you in after a hysterectomy (or probably any OB/Gyn sort of procedure) is actually in the maternity wing and it's amazing.  This room was huge.  It may have been bigger than my apartment.  Although, I have to think this would be depressing for women that have hysterectomies that wanted to have children someday... everything in this whole wing is baby oriented and you can't even walk off the anesthetics without seeing babies.

The only channel that worked without static was the (creepy stalker) channel that shows the lobby of the hospital so you can watch people check in and wait around and stuff.  I'd have to be really bored or lonely before I would watch strangers wait to visit other strangers.

When I woke up in my hospital room I mass-texted my friends with my cell phone, including this photo and the caption "100% recreational".  I may or may not have been on large amounts of drugs.

This was taken as soon as I could stand on my own, which was that same day.  Well, as soon as I could stand on my own but after I peed on my own, because I have a shy bladder and peeing with a door between me and the rest of the hospital is usually first on my agenda.

I cannot for the life of me figure out what I'm wearing.  That's my favorite "comfy" pair of panties, but I'm almost positive that I've never owned a black tank top, at least not a cottony one.  I have eight cats.  Eight cat-owning people do not own black cotton anything.