I think I’m basically over the hysteria-ectomy part of my recovery. When I wrote last week, I think it was the unknown that toyed with my otherwise stable emotions (snort). I do not have pain, which is unnerving because I feel like I should, but also because it makes me feel like I can do more than I’m allowed (per doctor’s orders).

My family has been helpful. Though I have to tell them when I need help, because as of this writing none of them have learned to read my mind, go figure. The one thing I won’t ask them to do is work in the garden. Well, I can ask, but I’m pretty sure any one of them would look at me with birds tweeting over their heads. So I won’t. My husband will hopefully keep the lawn mowed since he’s become the lawn tractor cowboy.

The only thing keeping me from overdoing is when I do even a little too much my body protests and I have twinges where I shouldn’t be having them. Then I have to recline in my bedroom chair and stay quiet. That’s when my family leaps into action to take up the slack. My youngest has been cooking most of the meals.

I’m sitting on my sunporch right now looking out to my garden. The one I made sure I weeded anything I could see so it wouldn’t bug me now that I’m out of commission for awhile. But of course, there are weeds out there mocking my pre-surgery efforts.

I think it’s time for a party. The invitations will read “GARDEN PARTY! Come tour my new house, then the activities will begin. Wear your grubby clothes and bring your gloves! I have tools to use, but more will make quick work – uh, fun. A big sandwich from Fred Meyer, Costco cookies, and coffee or iced tea as the weather determines! Bring your kids, even little weeds need pulling, too. Rain or shine, let’s party on!”

I’m sure my friends would be clamoring for a chance to weed my – uh see our new place. No, I’m not really issuing that invite, I wouldn’t even answer an RSVP like that. It makes me think of old fashioned barn raisings, but it would be more akin to people putting the word out that they needed help moving. Gardening is like scrapbooking, either you’re into it or you’re not and if you like gardening, more than likely you would prefer to spend your energy in your own yard than someone else’s.

All in all, I am getting around well. Doing light cooking, light shopping, light laundry, light driving. The only reason I continue to wear pajamas when I’m home is because pants are too binding across my belly button, where one of the doc’s points of entry was (laparoscopic hysteria-ectomy, three small incisions instead of one big one). Give me five more weeks and I’ll be back in gardening form. The weeds will wait. My Florida friend will be here in between and lend a hand.

The best news is, there is no cancer in my removed organs, even the precancerous cells were completely removed with the previous biopsy. For me the ordeal is nothing more than a really inconvenient bump in the road. I’ve come full circle, because just like giving birth, there is never a convenient time. So I’ll following the detour until I’m dumped back onto the main road. Or rather into the garden.

If nothing else, the grass will die off in the heat, fall is on its way and before you know it, spring will be here. Seasons wait for no woman.

Gretchen Leigh is a stay-at-home mom who lives in a neighborhood near you. You can read more of her writing on her website livingwithgleigh.com; to read her column every week and see pictures illustrating them, follow her on Facebook at “Living with Gleigh by Gretchen Leigh.