I cannot believe so much time has passed since my last post! Even though I thought I might be able to read and at least post comments while I was recovering it simply did not work out that way. I have learned that with the availbility of pain killers it is just too easy to get caught in a cycle of not wanting to do anything, but continue dosing. Sadly, while the pills numb the pain they have the unfortunate side effect of numbing the mind as well. I found while I was on them I could not focus to read or pay much attention to anything except the drone of the television in between sleeping. I chose to take Precoset, which has been called Hilly-Billy Heroine and while I certainly enjoyed the momentary euphoria it brought I did not like the side effects so as soon as I could I weaned myself off of the drug. There has never been a time in my life where I wished more that I was independantly wealthy so that I did not have to return to work only one week after surgery. It sucked hard is all I can say and I have been working everyday since, sometimes with limited hours just so I could make some money! The apparent down-side of being self employed.
So now let me tell you about the surgery itself and the outcome. Can I just say that I was so scared on the morning of the operation, I had to be there by 6 am, that I was literally shaking, and that right before the surgery, in pre-op, I was asked to change my consent form because the first one was not filled in properly and was a mess where I had written that no matter what I did not want a hysterectomy. I was still allowed to write that, but it just had to be, “neater”! I consented to only having a hysterectomy if it would save my life. I also did not want the tumors sent to pathology while I was in surgery, much to the amazement of my family and friends. Fibroids are rarely cancerous, so I was not concerned. In fact I didn’t become concerned at all until I woke up in the recovery room crying. I was in so much pain it seems useless to try and describe it. From then on my hospital experience seemed like a fucking nightmare! The care I received, with the exception of a few gifted nurses was so sub-standard that to get into it would take pages and pages. So I’ll just say the place was filthy and the personal were not familiar with the word empathy, and once I could walk my whole mission was to get home. That happened mid-morning of my 3rd day. Their was a patient advocate who was as appalled by my care as I was and she actually sent me flowers with a note that said, “We are sorry that the care you received did not meet your expectations.” She called me at home twice to see how I was doing, but in the kind of drugged stupor I was in the conversations are unclear to me. What I didn’t like about the note was that it implied that my expectations were possibly unreasonable and that the expection of quality care was asking too much, or maybe I just don’t like the words “my expections” because it puts the blame on me. She never did admit, even though she was witness to it, that care was far below par. I’m not sure if she could commit that to writing at all and I also appreciated the gesture.
I was also informed by my daughter, after I was in my room that I had, count em, 19 fibroids removed. Even though I knew I had a “fibroid utereus” no where in my wildest imagination could I dream up the number 19, it’s an odd number for Christ’s sake. I was thinking at the most, one really big one, 2 mid-sized ones and 3 smaller ones, 6, an even number. I also was not allowed to see my doctor on the day of the surgery and the patient advocate actually referred to him as, “God”, she said, “You want to see your doctor? You mean God, right?” I simply thought your doctor would check on you after performing such an intense surgery and would tell you to your face what had happened, but he told my daughter the breifest amount of information and suggested in a very strong voice that the best thing for me would have been a hysterectomy. To that I say, Fuck you! I said it with a smile, does that count?
Anywho, on the bright side I found with regard to choosing a surgeon, a narcissit is best because the surgeon I chose who lacked personality made up for it in skill, and I was later told by one of the other doctors in his practice that while my surgery took only 90 minutes it would have taken any other surgeon 3 hours to complete. I lost a pint of blood, but you could double that loss by choosing a surgeon who is less skilled. And while I didn’t like his bedside manner I still thanked him because he did an incredible job and even though it hurt to a spectacular degree, the incision is perfect. I think he could side line as a plastic surgeon!
So I am finally on the mend, the patholoyg on my tumors was performed and they were not cancerous, and for your viewing pleasure I am posting pictures of the tumors they removed. If you have a weak stomach or simply don’t like looking at graphic photos of tumors please stop reading now! I like to see what was inside me and I must say the large tumor reminds me of a human brain, or alternatively a dinosuar egg. The Doctor said he would take the pictures for me, but only with a disposable camera so they are not the greatest shots, but what I love about them is how unedited they are! You can see all the used surgical impliments, the dollar store plastic bin they loaded the tumors into and the mess all over the floor. Certainly the operating room is not the “theatre” it’s proported to be.
So Without Further Ado: