Page 82 of Confessions of a Virgin on a Dating App
My father ended up going for a walk at a nearby park, so me and my mother had the hotel room to ourselves. In addition to the immaculate, puffy king-sized bed and sliding glass doors that overlooked downtown Orlando, my attention was locked on the sleek alcove bathtub lined with what looked like jacuzzi jets.
I placed a hand over my stomach, which was swollen and bloated from our earlier dinner. I didn’t have a bathtub at home, and I longed to immerse my sore abdomen in the warm, bubbling water. My mother noticed me gawking at it, and she chuckled.
“Go ahead sweetie.” She pulled a bathrobe out of the closet. “Make yourself comfortable. Once you’re ready, we’ll talk about your surgery.”
I spent nearly half an hour soaking in the tub, enveloped in warmth and contentment. The water seemed to take the pressure off my swollen stomach, and by the time I stepped out of the bubble bath, it had shrunken down to a semi-normal size.
I released my hair from its updo and scrubbed myself dry, putting my clothes back on over my pruned skin. The bath made my whole body feel lighter.
We had another half-hour before my father returned from his walk, during which me and my mother sat on the bed and had our first heart-to-heart conversation in years. I still wasn’t ready to tell her about Devin, but in-between discussions of my upcoming surgery, I revealed more about my life in Orlando. Like with the game shop, my mother seemed more open-minded than in the past, which lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. Back when I was in college, the thought of me being anything other than a pious church girl was unthinkable for her.
There were also further discussions about endometriosis and what it meant for my health post-surgery. I knew that the laparoscopy wasn’t a cure, and that I would likely need medication for the rest of my life. There was also a chance I would be infertile, but I was nowhere near ready to contemplate that topic yet.
There were a few times where I was tempted to tell her about my sexual dysfunction. After all, it was a majorsymptom of my endometriosis, and what had caused me so much difficulty in adulthood. But talking through female medical issues with my mother was one thing. Discussing my sex life was uncharted territory that I wasn’t ready to explore.
I was so grateful for the time alone with her that I was disappointed when a loud knock echoed from the hotel door. I gave my mother a quick goodbye hug, but there was one topic still lingering in the back of my mind: her own health issues. I wanted to mention my concerns that she might also have endometriosis, but I couldn’t get the words out. Her miscarriages were a taboo, forbidden topic in my family, and I feared bringing them up would send my mother into another emotional spiral.
As we broke our hug, I gazed deeply into my mother’s warm, smiling face. On the surface she looked happy, but I could see the way her eyes glistened under the bright hotel lights and how the wrinkles lining her eyes and mouth tugged at her features. I’d seen her so infrequently over the past five years, but she always looked spry and healthy for a woman in her late forties. I knew perimenopause likely staved off her pain for good, but I wondered if she suffered all the same symptoms I had in her younger years. If, like me, she felt the need to hide it for her own self-preservation.
But those questions remained in my head, unable to be spoken aloud, as I left the hotel and went home to await my surgery day.
Itwas well past 11 p.m.
And I couldn’t sleep.
I felt like a coked-up zombie as I sat in front of my computer, the screen eyeball-scorchingly bright in comparison to my nearly pitch-black room. I was simultaneously exhausted and wired, and it made me feel like my brain was short-circuiting. In addition, my abdominal pain had returned, with my stomach twisting into more knots than a pretzel.
I had no idea I would be like this the night before my surgery. It reminded me of Christmas Eve in my childhood, when I’d lay restless in bed for hours while I thought about the presents that awaited me the next morning. Except this time, there were no presents, and the anxious bubble of excitement was instead one full of dread.
I’d texted Devin earlier, which helped alleviate some of my anxiety. But he’d said goodnight to me over an hour ago, and I assumed he was already asleep. I knew he didn’t work on Mondays, but I also knew he did a lot of errands and bookkeeping on his days off, and I didn’t want to bug him all night. Like with the period pains I’d dealt with for the past decade, I avoided asking for help when I was not feeling well. Even the night before a major surgery.
I tried lying down several times, but while my body was exhausted, my mind was in overdrive. All my attempts at sleep managed to do was give my brain more time to contemplate the thousands of ways my surgical procedure could go wrong.
I distracted myself with video games instead, even if it meant passing out from exhaustion at an ungodly early hour. What did it matter if I didn’t get any sleep? The anesthesia would take care of that for me, and I’d be so drugged up on post-op pain meds that I’d be fast asleep for the rest of the day.
Thirty minutes passed. I was so restless that I could barely focus on video games, and milking cows andcollecting eggs in my farming sims was starting to feel like actual chores. I couldn’t turn on my television for fear of waking Cassidy in the next room, so I put some YouTube videos on my computer.
Halfway through a “Top 10” gaming list, I nearly threw my headphones off in frustration. None of this was helping with my anxiety, and I wanted to scream. It was now almost midnight, and with every passing minute on my phone screen, I was inching closer to my dreaded surgery. Within the next few hours, the sun would start peeking up above the horizon, and I’d be forced to endure this procedure full of both anxiety and exhaustion.
I opened my earlier texts from Devin, but my fingers were frozen above my keyboard.
Do I really want to do this?
Do I really want to bug him at midnight?
My phone buzzed with a notification, and it was so unexpected that my hands spazzed out and I nearly dropped the little device on the floor.
Hey, not sure if you’re asleep yet.
It was Devin.
I was so relieved that I wanted to reach through the phone screen and hug him.
I’m not. I can’t sleep.
I don’t blame you. The night before surgery is rough. I’m having trouble sleeping too.
Why?
