Surgery Part II

A loud buzzing noise, repeated beeps in my ear, pain like a red-hot poker, suffocation. These are the things I remember upon waking up from my surgery. It’s mostly a little fuzzy, but I do remember repeatedly trying to pull the oxygen mask off of my face and the nurse putting it back on and telling me I needed it. I just remember the feeling of not being able to breathe even though there was oxygen being pushed into my lungs from the mask.

The nurse finally took it off of me after making sure I was more awake. The next thing I remember was more pain. My head was pounding like I had a tiny little jack hammer on top trying to split it in half. My stomach hurt every time I tried to move. I knew I would hurt, I was not prepared for my whole body to hurt. I felt like I was being ripped open by a red-hot knife. I must’ve moaned out loud because before I knew it the nurse was giving me a shot and then I didn’t remember anything again for the next little while.

When I woke up again my brother and my aunt were sitting with me in the recovery room. I was still a little out of it, so things are fuzzy. I remember them asking me how I felt. I don’t remember really what my reply was. I remember trying to scoot myself up in bed and feeling like I was being ripped in half like an old raggedy doll being ripped apart by some malicious child. My brother snapped this lovely reminder:

   
I have no idea what was going on in this picture or exactly what I was looking for.

Soon I was wheeled to my room. Since they performed my surgery via laparotomy (cutting me open like a C-section)  instead of laprascopically (only putting a few tiny holes in my abdomen),  I had to stay to be observed. My room was nice. It was private and I did not have a roommate. Apparently that’s the norm for the hospital I was in. I liked that I didn’t have a roommate. I have enough trouble sleeping in strange places without having to listen to someone else making noise from the bed next to me.

My brother took off to go pick his fiancé up from work, and my aunt had left before they taken me to my room. I was soon alone with just the beeping from the machines to keep me company. I had everything I needed at my fingertips. The controller worked the bed, the television,, and the lights. In turn the television controlled the temperature of the room. I thought that was pretty cool, that I could make it as hot or cold as I wanted. I’m generally a warmer than average person anyway so I cranked it down to like 74.

Every 15 minutes or so (it seemed like) someone would come and check my vitals, look at my machines, scan my bar code (of course) and ask if I needed anything. I was really very thirsty so I kept asking for ice water. It was the good ice too. The little nuggets that are simply lovely to chew on. I couldn’t get enough. I felt like I had cotton shoved in my mouth and no matter how much water I drank, it did nothing to alleviate that feeling.

My very best friend in the whole wide world stopped by to visit me. I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like, but we’ve still remained friends through thick and thin (and now they’ve moved across the state practically so I will get to see even less of her). I was so happy to see a familiar face. Unfortunately they came in and gave me a shot somewhere through the half-way point of her visit. (She says) I started saying some odd things like some business about my tongue being numb, and some other things I don’t quite remember. She left quickly after that because my eyelids started getting heavy. I swear I was managing it, but apparently when she called me on it I informed her that I wasn’t sleeping, but it was taking me a really long time to blink (or something to that effect. She says).

I dozed off and on through the evening. My brother and his beautiful fiancé Kiearstan came to visit. They grabbed some food from the cafeteria and hung out for a while. They had given me some delicious Jell-o (there’s always room for Jell-o!) and some clear broth earlier. I didn’t eat much of either because I just wasn’t hungry. I had no desire to eat anything. I just wanted more water.

During Michael and Kiearstan’s visit they brought me a dinner tray with some ham and potatoes and a roll on it. My brother was subtly prodding me to try to eat something, so I tried a bite of ham. It got stuck in my throat because my mouth was still so dry and I ended up choking. Oh boy did that hurt! I tried so hard to stop coughing and I just couldn’t stop because the ham was still stuck. My brother immediately jumped up and was trying to help. He was mostly just dancing around my bed because there was really nothing he could do but give me water until I could get the offending piece of pork wet enough to just slide down my throat. Needless to say I was finished with food after that. I wanted to die it hurt so bad.

Soon after that my brother and Kiearstan left, leaving me with a cute teddy bear that I named Over-bear (after my overbearing little brother-haha). I was granted another shot after a disapproving look from my nurse at my still-full dinner tray. I explained about the choking and the dry-mouth and told him (yes, him-and he was adorable too!) that frankly I just wasn’t hungry still.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of visits from more friends who brought me some very fun things to do during my recovery, visits from the nurses (shift-change occurred around 7pm), and noises from the hospital waking me up every so often. Needless to say the next day I was cranky and out-of-sorts from lack of sleep and pain.

I was frustrated because I still had not seen a doctor since my surgery. I wanted to know when I was allowed to go home! My doctor had told me it would be anywhere from 2-4 days, but my cousin had the same surgery and was able to go home the next day!  That’s what I was trying to shoot for.

My first full-day post-surgery  consisted of about six hours of Indiana Jones movies, getting up and walking around the hall with some of my favorite people (visitors not nurses-just to be clear), dozing off and on, and wanting to go home.

Finally the doctor who was making rounds came by and examined me. She told me if I could keep down solid food (still had not eaten very much) and tolerate an actual pain pill instead of a shot, I could go home that evening! I so very badly wanted that to happen!

Finally around 6pm I was granted my leave! I called my brother to come and get me as he would be staying the night with me. While I waited for him, I packed up as best I could, and attempted to put on some clothes. It was quite painful and I got a first look of my stomach. I was not prepared for what I saw. I knew what my scar would look like because I had seen my cousins, but I didn’t see it so soon after her surgery.

The scar ran along my bikini line and pretty much went from one end of my stomach to the other. I was super swollen and looked deformed. I was bruised severely too. I definitely looked as if I had major surgery done! I didn’t want to look at it anymore because frankly it grossed me out. I quickly tried to pull on my sweat pants (quick was not actually possible due to the pain).

Soon my brother was there and I was able to leave! I had a little anxiety about not being surrounded by medical staff. With my bad lungs I had been having a hard time breathing, and trying to cough all of that anesthesia out of my lungs was out of the question. I brought the little plastic thing they gave me to blow in though. That was supposed to help get the crap out of my lungs and prevent me from getting pneumonia from sitting for so long.

Of course they had to wheel me out in the wheel chair (no walking for me!) Scanned my bar code, one last time, and I was able to slowly try to slide into my brother’s car. The ride home was not pleasant. Even though I had him bring me a pillow and I was using Over-bear to press against my stomach, I felt every little bump of the road. It wasn’t my brother’s fault. He was doing his best to avoid bumps he saw and was driving very cautiously. Apparently our roads are just bumpy and we are not normally  aware of it.

I was glad to be home. I was exhausted and starting to hurt, but glad nonetheless. I slowly climbed the stairs to my bedroom (so, so painful) and stood next to my bed looking at it. It was a new bed for me (I had purchased it the month before).  It looked so comfy I just wanted to crawl right in.

I had tried to think of everything I would need, so I wouldn’t have to get in or out of bed, or bother anyone to come help me so I had it set up and ready to go. The one thing I had not thought about, was how high my bed actually is. It took me a full five minutes of thinking about how I was going to get into it before I just decided to go for it and do my best. Eventually I managed to get in and had a nice sleep for the whole night!

The next few days bled into one another: I would flop like a fish to get out of bed, stand straight for 2 minutes for the pain and dizziness to go away, make my way slowly downstairs to sit in a chair for a few hours, and then make my way back up the stairs to go back to sleep. Luckily I had these two to keep me company:

Did I mention I found a kitten outside one night before the end of the school year? She was so little we took her in. We didn’t know if she was a boy or girl because she was so young, so I named her Sammy (good name for a boy or girl!). We have since found out she is indeed a girl. She adopted us! I love having the worlds coolest dog (Harley) and now a cute kitty around! Harley is a very intuitive dog. She always knows when I’m sad or hurting and she will come lay by me. Animals really and truly are therapeutic.

Sammy and Over-bear

My doctor called me the first Tuesday after I was home to check on me and let me know her findings. She had spoken with my brother and aunt after the surgery but both of their stories were different, so I didn’t know which to believe. She did confirm that I had one very large cyst, over 10cm at last measurement,  instead of the two they thought after my last ultrasound. She gave me a souvenir photo as well. I’m kind of oddly fascinated by it. It looks like a big golden ball!

Then she said something that surprised me. She said they found a tumor in my left fallopian tube. I had to have her spell it for me but she said it was called a serous cystadenofibroma. She said that it was benign which immediately made me feel more at ease since hearing the word “tumor” had put my mind in overdrive. They did remove all of the tumor,  as well as my left fallopian tube and part of my ovary.  Apparently my ovaries “kiss” which means they are pretty much stuck together so they left the majority of the left one attached to the good ovary.

Immediately after I got off of the phone with her, I Googled “serous cystadenofibroma”. Everything I read seemed to be mainly from journals of medicine or pathology reports. The thing that I found most interesting is that the majority of the things I read said it was a relatively rare tumor. My doctor did not say one way or the other if this increased my risk of getting another one or what caused it in the first place. She said these things just happen sometimes. Good to know my body is working for me and not against me right?

She did tell me once I am fully healed,  I will hopefully be noticing a drop-off of my stomach issues. I hope she is right! I will be able to tell once I fully get back into the running groove!

I was very frustrated with my recovery. I felt like I should be feeling better after a few weeks. Instead I was feeling worse! The best description of my pain that I could come up with was that it felt like I had a piece of glass inside my abdomen and it was rubbing against something every time I moved. I did not have external stitches (thankfully they had used surgical glue), but I did have internal ones. My doctor informed me that could have been me feeling the knot from the internal sutures, or the soreness from having had the cyst, tumor, and tube removed from that side, or just soreness from my muscles that had been cut, trying to repair themselves. Whatever the explanation I was miserable!

To this day (almost 3 and a half months later) I still have pain when I press on my stomach. I still have a lot of swelling in that area and my scar is a very angry red color. Apparently these things are all a normal part of recovery. My body is still trying to regulate itself, and I’m still trying to heal, so I guess only time will tell. I am grateful that I only ended up with one cyst instead of two, and grateful that even though I did have a tumor it was not cancerous. Things could have been a lot worse so I shouldn’t complain too much.

I just still get frustrated that I am not 100% yet.  I feel like I should be back to where I was before the surgery (minus all the stuff that was causing my issues). I am frustrated that I feel like I am having to start over at square one in terms of my stamina and strength. I was not allowed to do anything for two months. I put on some weight due to inactivity and  admittedly eating like crap; and I am for sure not happy about that. I want to be running like I was pre-surgery. I don’t want to have to start over and be slow again!

I know now that I am whining. It’s time to suck it up, put on my big girl panties, stop making excuses and get in charge of myself again. I had no control over what happened and my recovery, but I can control how I come back from it. It’s time to get off of my ass and do it!

Surgery Part One

 

The morning of June 6th dawned bright and early. Well actually it dawned the night before because needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep. I was stressing big time about my upcoming surgery and about to call my doctor and tell her I wasn’t going to go through with it. To take my mind off of it, I made sure I had everything packed and ready to go. I double checked everything I thought I could possibly want. Not having ever had to stay in the hospital overnight before, I didn’t know what to prepare for. I am truly an over-packer.

Morbidly enough I wrote out a directive of my wishes too. I don’t know if that’s legal or not, but in case there was any question of “What if?” I wanted my loved ones to know my wishes. They needed to know if preferred cremation or burial, if I wanted life support, who gets my stuff (you know the really important issues).  I really didn’t think anything would go catastrophically wrong, but I have a habit of thinking worst-case-scenario. I feel like preparing for the worst helps ensure the worst won’t happen.

My thoughts exactly!

When I finally came downstairs in the morning I was super crabby. It’s not like I felt the need to be a happy-go-lucky gal like I was going off to enjoy myself at a party or anything, but I was really pissy. About everything. The fact that the sky was blue was grating on my nerves. Don’t even get me started on those damn chirping birds!

My brother had insisted on coming with me to the surgery. He took the day off from work and everything. My aunt was going to drive me and I kept telling him he didn’t need to be there. It really was very sweet of him to want to go. Still, I was irrationally bitchy toward him all morning as we waited to leave for the hospital (we had all gotten up and gotten ready ridiculously early). I kept snapping at him and being snotty. I felt like a cranky three-year old. It’s not that I didn’t want him there…I know I didn’t even want to be there. I don’t know what my problem was!

He kept trying to be supportive and nice to me and it was really bugging me. (Horribly right? That someone dare be NICE to me???) I seriously wanted him to start being mean back to me and he just wouldn’t which annoyed me even more. I know that I was being a brat to him because I needed the outlet for all my angst and my pent-up fear about the surgery; and he was letting me take it out on him which was quasi-heroic (at least in my eyes). Still, to this day I feel bad about my attitude when he was trying to help and be supportive. I’m sure he understands, but my heart hurts a little every time I think of the pained expressions on his face when I would snap at him. Sorry Bubba.

Soon it was time to go, and with my heart pounding out a beat so loud I swore everyone could hear it, I climbed into the car. The ride was pretty uneventful. It was early,  but not so early that we beat rush hour. Luckily for us the hospital was south and it seemed most of the traffic was headed north toward the freeways. We had the occasional hiccup here and there as we neared major intersections. Of course every time we stopped or slowed down I entertained the thought of either opening the door, or rolling down the window and jumping out to make a break for it. I was filled with dread. I don’t even think I was this anxious when I took that flight to Vegas for the race last year!

Before I knew it, we had arrived. I felt as though the hospital was looming over me. Although it’s a newer hospital and very nice and comforting looking (it actually looks like a church from one angle or a really nice hotel from another), I pictured the building as a big monsters head. The windows to the rooms were the eyes and the large entrance with the long porte-cochere was the mouth and tongue that was yawning wide-open to swallow me whole. I was not being the least bit dramatic about it or anything.

We quickly (too quickly), found where we needed to be and before I knew it, I was checked in with one of those high-fashioned hospital bracelets wrapped around my wrist. Actually I had like 3 of those bad-boys on. One had my info, one had a bar code on it, and the other one was to inform the hospital of my blood type in case I would need a transfusion during the surgery. I was hoping that last bit was a precautionary measure they take for every surgery, and not just for mine because it was a surgery that involved a lot of blood loss. During all my research (I really need to not Google things and watch surgery videos on YouTube right before going under the knife), I had not read anything about that being a possibility so I was hoping for the former.

We  barely had time to sit in the waiting room before they were calling me back. It was time to get prepped. As I followed the nurse back to the pre-surgery area my hands started sweating, my mouth got all cottony, and I was feeling light-headed. I looked longingly at the emergency exit and decided if I bolted through that door it would make too much of a scene. The nurse was walking slightly ahead of me, as perky and chipper as could be, chatting away about no particular thing. I could barely hear her due to the sound of the blood pumping in my ears. I actually almost ran into her when she stopped in front of my little assigned bed area.

She had me sit, scanned the bar code on my arm (I am not a number! I am a person!) and then asked me about a billion questions like who I was, what kind of surgery I was having, allergies, etc. Then she took me into the bathroom and gave me a very stylish gown, a cap, and a pair of those socks with the tread on them so you don’t slip around. She also gave me some antibacterial wipes and I was told to wipe myself down with them. They had already made me shower for the three days prior to my surgery with Hibicleanse. She explained to me that with the rise of diseases like MRSA and staph infections, they tried to take every precaution available. Works for me! I didn’t want to end up with one of those icky things on top of everything else, so I gladly wiped myself down one last time.

If you are not familiar with Hibicleanse, it’s an antibacterial wash that they use in hospitals. They also recommend it for people with chronic illnesses, and people who are going to have surgery. It’s supposed to be super-antibiotic and will kill whatever germs you may have lurking on your body. No one bothered to warn me about the color of the Hibicleanse before I used it for the first time. I had bought a small bottle (Apparently a little goes a long way) from the pharmacy at my grocery store. The first night I showered with it, I just popped the cap open and squirted it all over myself. I looked down and nearly fainted. I looked like a scene from the movie Carrie when she was at the prom after they dumped the pig’s blood on her. This stuff was red and was running down my body in rivulets so it looked like I was bleeding profusely. Needless to say, after that first shower I was a little wigged out. I got used to it by the third day-but still (shudder).

After I completed my last round of de-germing myself I donned my beautiful gown and made my way back to my area. I felt so glamorous with the too big gown (gaping severely in the back), the fuzzy grey socks, hair in a sloppy ponytail and no make-up on. As I glided (I couldn’t really sashay in that gown) down the corridor back to my area, I distracted myself from my looming panic for a moment, by visualizing myself walking down a red-carpet dressed in that getup. I even toyed with the idea of doing the ‘elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist’ wave of the beauty queen as I made my way down the aisle (while clutching the gown in the back so not to put on a show).

As soon as I got into the bed on wheels, numerous nurses began to drift in and out of my area. They all asked me the same questions: name, what was I there for, my social security number, etc. They all repeatedly scanned my bar code as well. I guess it made me feel a little better that they were verifying all of my info so much. At first I thought the bar code was for the same thing, but later someone told me they scan the bar code for each thing they do so they can bill the insurance company for it later. That made much more sense!

Soon I was hooked up to an IV (after several unsuccessful attempts-including one that resulted in a big bubble of fluid under my skin. Seeing that freaked me out even more if that was even possible!), I had on a blood pressure cuff, electrodes on my chest,  and they had wrapped these funny compression things around my legs that had tubes sticking out of them. I felt like a patient on Grey’s Anatomy, minus the perfectly done hair and make-up that all the patients on that show seem to come in with. My heart rate went into overdrive and I started wondering how far I could make running it with those things wrapped around my legs.

I was left for a moment with my increasingly erratic and panicked thoughts and they brought my brother and Aunt Kim back to sit with me until it was time to go.

Doesn’t that spiffy blue hair net bring out my eyes? Such a glamorous shot I know!

It’s almost an awkward feeling sitting with people when you are in such a vulnerable position as lying on a gurney and covered in baggy cotton with tubes and wires sticking out of you. At that point I think we were all just nervous and making inane conversation that I don’t really remember. My doctor came by and introduced herself to my brother and aunt, I met the anesthesiologist, a few of the nurses and an orderly. Once again, each of them checked my bands, scanned me and asked a million questions. I wanted to be snarky and ask for a pen and paper so I could just write it all down, but I thought I better be polite to the people who were going to be holding sharp objects and ensuring I kept breathing.

Soon I had to say goodbye to my family. Not before they gave me a shot of what I now think of as the most amazing thing in the world. I can’t remember exactly what it was called (Ativan?). It took about two seconds for that happy juice to hit my bloodstream and I was floating on a cloud made of rainbows, kitten fur, and jellybeans.

All of my anxieties were immediately gone and I just felt…relaxed and happy. I almost didn’t recognize that feeling, it had been so long since I felt relaxed! I could feel a big cheesy grin spread across my face. I wanted to hold on to that feeling, but soon they were wheeling me down the hall and into a very cold operating room (of course I didn’t care that the room was cold after my wonderful shot). I saw my doctor again and she introduced the nurses which I thought was nice. They had me scooch over to another surface (another bed? Another table? Who knows?). It was awkward, the scooching. I felt so relaxed I didn’t even have control over my limbs. I could feel my gown riding up on me, but wasn’t so concerned about it. I figured they’d be seeing a lot more of me than that in a few minutes anyway. They covered me with a heated blanket which banished the cold chill I had gotten from freezing room. With that blanket and my shot I was all warm and cozy and didn’t want to move out of that moment.

The last thing I remember was them putting the big plastic thing over my mouth and telling me to breathe deep. I don’t think they even had me count backwards like I always see them do on T.V. Soon I was out.

 

 

Ruh-Roh! and Ragnar

With school in session and a new grade level on my plate, free time is a precious commodity these days. I did however manage to escape at a decent hour today (only putting in 10 hours instead of my normal 12), so I was able to take care of business and still have time to write-yay!

The above GIF pretty much summed up my reaction when I spoke with a specialist regarding my MRI from the Chiropractor. She ordered and ultrasound to confirm something I had discovered at my yearly woman check up about a year earlier. I had a really large cyst in my abdomen and it seemed to have engulfed my right ovary. They were not concerned at the time even though at 8.2cm it was still a rather large cyst. The doctor I had seen previously said it was a ‘simple’ cyst (meaning it was fluid filled) which would most likely resolve itself and/or completely disappear and that they would be keeping and eye on it.

This appointment brought me the news that not only did my cyst not resolve itself, but it had grown almost 2cm and turned into a ‘complex’ cyst (no longer fluid filled and possibly a solid mass-which was why it appeared on the MRI apparently). She very gently informed me that it was time to consider a surgical removal based on the fact that it was on my right ovary. She said due to the size it could flip and cause torsion which would cut the blood supply off to my ovary and cause immense pain. She was amazed that I was not in pain as it was, because it was so large she could feel it upon a brief examination.  She said I more than likely would have to have my ovary and fallopian tube removed as well.

And if that wasn’t all…they saw another mass on my left side which was possibly another cyst of the same size. When I asked her to explain the sizing to me, she basically told me to imagine carrying two over-sized grapefruits around in my stomach. Hmmm. Not the greatest of imagery, but it did put it in perspective for me. She said they didn’t know if the second mass was attached to anything in my body, they wouldn’t know until they got in there.

I went home that evening with my head spinning. First the thought of having surgery was freaking me out of course. Secondly, even though I really had never entertained the idea that I would even have kids; the fact that the choice could possibly be taken away from me really upset me. She didn’t say for sure I wouldn’t be able to have children, but my chances would be lessened with the removal of one ovary and fallopian tube, and if they got in there and found something wrong with the other ovary then my chances would go from bad to non-existent.

I am a teacher. I have plenty of honorary nieces and nephews to love and spoil (technically they are my second cousins but that’s kind of an odd relationship to explain to a child so I am ‘Aunt Jamie’). I am single and creeping closer to my 40’s so I figured I was not in the place to have a kid. I also wasn’t sure if I would even be a good mother. Let’s be honest-after a day at school I am less than patient when I am at the store and some kid is running around like he/she owns the place. I didn’t think that kind of attitude would translate well if I were to go home to a child (even though everyone says it’s different when it’s YOUR child).

BUT (there is always an ever-present ‘but’ isn’t there?) I was upset that it was no longer my choice. I don’t know if I am able to explain it well. People pointed out to me that I had remarked on occasion that I wasn’t really sure I wanted to have children to begin with. Now that I possibly couldn’t I should be happy and not be too concerned about it since it wasn’t a factor anyway.

Still…the choice was gone. I was no longer in charge of my body or my decision regarding that subject. I also started feeling like maybe I was defective. On a particularly bad evening several weeks later, I was dwelling on the subject and started thinking “What if this is God’s plan for me because He knows I would be a terrible mother?” Yes, I did go to a pretty dark place in my thoughts.

I am not what you would call a religious person. I don’t go to church. I don’t follow a dogma of any kind of religion. I have never been baptized, nor do I pray on a regular basis. Still-I have always felt there is something greater than me whether it be a higher power, an omniscient being, an alien from another universe, etc. I have always felt that things happen for a reason, even though we don’t always understand that reason (I.E. both of my parents dying separately and way before their time).

I struggled with my thoughts about the subject for some time. It was always at the back of my mind, it effected my feelings toward myself, and it consumed me. I couldn’t (and really still feel like I can’t) put into words exactly what I felt or what my thought process was. People would question me and then look at me like I had two heads when I was trying to explain myself. Mostly I kept quiet and tried not to let anyone see really and truly how much it was bothering me.

Like I said, I feel like things happen for a reason. This was all going on around the time of my training for the full marathon. I don’t have an exact timeline because it’s all so jumbled at this point. I had decided that with my leg issue there was no way I could run the full marathon and I refused to have a WORSE time than my first marathon, so I emailed the race director (who was very nice) and dropped down to the half-marathon. I was beside myself with the stress of my so-far undetermined injury, trying to train for the full, finishing up standardized testing at school and getting ready to move my classroom, and then the worry about my upcoming surgery was icing on the cake (or the cherry on the sundae-whichever food related euphemism you like better).  I got a text message one day that provided me with the outlet and distraction I needed from what was going on with me.

Cliffhanger alert! Just kidding. I am going to finish this post and start another one solely dedicated to the Ragnar since it was so amazing. I will also be posting about my surgery as well, which will most likely have to be another separate post. In true Jamie fashion, I have rambled on long enough on this post and need to have a breaking point so people don’t want to break me!