For completeness of the story I thought I would add a wee update to the Endometriosis story of September 2013.
I went in for surgery on October 3rd. I should have seen it as an ominous event as when I was on the phone booking the appointment whilst sitting on the Cornish coast the man next to me had a seagull steal his Cornish Pasty! It was a swift and frighteningly successful attack, that left the nice Welshman beside me without lunch.
I didn't eat for 12 hours and reported for duty at 1pm. Not to be seen by a Consultant til after 2pm. We had people coming into the day surgery looking for relatives with packed lunches which I thought was a brave move. Just so you know in future the people in day surgery have not been allowed water or food since the day before....this generally means they are cranky so eating in plain site is probably best avoided if you want to keep the NHS focused on keeping people healthy and the surgery lists on schedule.
I was confused by the Consultant who was the first person I saw. He asked me if I would like a coil. Something no one has ever asked me before. And left me baffled. I didn't even know what one was....so after a bit of googling and bad #endosister reports I opted out. I had a friendly Irish anesthetist who put me at ease and friendly nurses who couldn't do enough for me. As I was taken into surgery I was given the goods at 3,2,1 15:00 (I thought as I watched the clock in front of me, at least I know what they will call my time of death from if it gets truly freaky down there!).
Surgery should have been simple. Keyhole in and out in as little as half an hour. Alas I was out for 90 minutes and they had to remove a great deal of clearly identifiable chocolate brown endometriotic tissue from my uterus. This included removing tissue from my right ovary that was lodged both inside it and outside meaning the surgeon had to reconstruct my ovary (which she later had great joy in sharing with me as if it was a new scientific discovery).
I woke in recovery sometime later to the site of the Consultant and his two grads looking like scrub adorned angels on his wings and he said
"it went well, we were able to save both your ovaries".
"WHAT????!" I responded
look of shock and confusion across three very misty faces (I didn't have my glasses on) "Oh dear she didn't know"
to which I fell back into a slumber, to wake as I was being wheeled to the women's ward.
When I woke around 8pm, I got up, burped an almighty burp - all that gas that had inflated my belly had to come out - and was able to walk to the toilet. I was quiet surprised at how quick I was back on my feet. Afterall none of the nurses could tell me if my surgery had gone well and if that just because I had my two ovaries this was a good thing. Unfortunately I did not have any means of contacting my family to say where I was and my poor flatmate who was meant to pick me up was still awaiting a call from the hospital as all my belongings were locked up in the day surgery ward. At around 1am I had the sense to call my sister in NZ and leave a message on her answer phone. I was lucky to have my glasses with me I suppose. But my logic was a little impaired and heaven knows what I said on the phone!
The next morning included a conveyor belt of pharmacists, nurses and doctors all calling in to see me. Assure me the surgery went well and apologise for the third scar on my hip bone because two incisions weren't enough to support the work required on my very scarred innards. But they were confident they had removed all the tissue.
Frankly the relief was palpable. It wasn't all in my head. I really did have something inside me that needed to get out. I had a disease and for now it was out of my system. I didn't want to focus on how long that might be. But for now I could get on with the recovery.
After a rather stressful discharge by a very argumentative nurse (complaint laid), I was sent home with little more than paracetamol and ibuprofen. My flatmate kindly escourted me home and the previsions I had made the previous week kept me fed for the next 2 weeks.
I felt amazing in the couple of days after. Tired but mentally like a weight had been wrenched from my shoulders with Herculean aplomb. I felt light and the scars were remarkable. Some ugly bruising but mostly remarkable. I wasn't sliced in half. And The Seagull aka The Surgeon had been so wonderful in telling me that I could (if I wanted to) have children. Many of you reading this will have never contemplated this as something that I would be worried about. So single and free. But having that right taken from me, would just send me straight back to the Doctor to insist on a removal of all my lady parts. If I have suffered so much with these things I want them to work for good not all this evil.
Of course with everything there are backward steps and I guess my first was when I went back to The Seagull to check the bruising at her walk in clinic. When I asked if she could help with my baby making plans (given it was her suggestion I hurry up about it) and line up all her Doctor friends for me, she replied
"I'm sorry, they are all females. But if that's what your into..."
"eer Dear Doctor of Medicine aren't you missing the point of how a baby is made"
"Oh of course....perhaps after shift finishes at the Blind Beggar (pub) you might have more luck".
The month following surgery was a real roller coaster. Some days bed ridden, some days waiting to be bed ridden, so used to the routine of it all. Ultimately setting my mind adrift with where in the world I should be. Like many people that have been house bound it makes you realise the support networks you have and the people you can rely on. And without the constant messages from my family in New Zealand I am not sure I would have been so positive about the entire thing.
As I return to real life I have begun to recognise that one never knows what's going in anyone elses life healthwise so being kind is always the best approach. And I learnt how much your stomach gets poked, prodded and pushed in an overcrowded city.
I celebrated my new found health by booking flights to Cuba. Seems only fair that I can get back to being myself again now I have got rid of the Mother Trucking beast within.
I went in for surgery on October 3rd. I should have seen it as an ominous event as when I was on the phone booking the appointment whilst sitting on the Cornish coast the man next to me had a seagull steal his Cornish Pasty! It was a swift and frighteningly successful attack, that left the nice Welshman beside me without lunch.
I didn't eat for 12 hours and reported for duty at 1pm. Not to be seen by a Consultant til after 2pm. We had people coming into the day surgery looking for relatives with packed lunches which I thought was a brave move. Just so you know in future the people in day surgery have not been allowed water or food since the day before....this generally means they are cranky so eating in plain site is probably best avoided if you want to keep the NHS focused on keeping people healthy and the surgery lists on schedule.
I was confused by the Consultant who was the first person I saw. He asked me if I would like a coil. Something no one has ever asked me before. And left me baffled. I didn't even know what one was....so after a bit of googling and bad #endosister reports I opted out. I had a friendly Irish anesthetist who put me at ease and friendly nurses who couldn't do enough for me. As I was taken into surgery I was given the goods at 3,2,1 15:00 (I thought as I watched the clock in front of me, at least I know what they will call my time of death from if it gets truly freaky down there!).
Surgery should have been simple. Keyhole in and out in as little as half an hour. Alas I was out for 90 minutes and they had to remove a great deal of clearly identifiable chocolate brown endometriotic tissue from my uterus. This included removing tissue from my right ovary that was lodged both inside it and outside meaning the surgeon had to reconstruct my ovary (which she later had great joy in sharing with me as if it was a new scientific discovery).
I woke in recovery sometime later to the site of the Consultant and his two grads looking like scrub adorned angels on his wings and he said
"it went well, we were able to save both your ovaries".
"WHAT????!" I responded
look of shock and confusion across three very misty faces (I didn't have my glasses on) "Oh dear she didn't know"
to which I fell back into a slumber, to wake as I was being wheeled to the women's ward.
When I woke around 8pm, I got up, burped an almighty burp - all that gas that had inflated my belly had to come out - and was able to walk to the toilet. I was quiet surprised at how quick I was back on my feet. Afterall none of the nurses could tell me if my surgery had gone well and if that just because I had my two ovaries this was a good thing. Unfortunately I did not have any means of contacting my family to say where I was and my poor flatmate who was meant to pick me up was still awaiting a call from the hospital as all my belongings were locked up in the day surgery ward. At around 1am I had the sense to call my sister in NZ and leave a message on her answer phone. I was lucky to have my glasses with me I suppose. But my logic was a little impaired and heaven knows what I said on the phone!
The next morning included a conveyor belt of pharmacists, nurses and doctors all calling in to see me. Assure me the surgery went well and apologise for the third scar on my hip bone because two incisions weren't enough to support the work required on my very scarred innards. But they were confident they had removed all the tissue.
Frankly the relief was palpable. It wasn't all in my head. I really did have something inside me that needed to get out. I had a disease and for now it was out of my system. I didn't want to focus on how long that might be. But for now I could get on with the recovery.
After a rather stressful discharge by a very argumentative nurse (complaint laid), I was sent home with little more than paracetamol and ibuprofen. My flatmate kindly escourted me home and the previsions I had made the previous week kept me fed for the next 2 weeks.
I felt amazing in the couple of days after. Tired but mentally like a weight had been wrenched from my shoulders with Herculean aplomb. I felt light and the scars were remarkable. Some ugly bruising but mostly remarkable. I wasn't sliced in half. And The Seagull aka The Surgeon had been so wonderful in telling me that I could (if I wanted to) have children. Many of you reading this will have never contemplated this as something that I would be worried about. So single and free. But having that right taken from me, would just send me straight back to the Doctor to insist on a removal of all my lady parts. If I have suffered so much with these things I want them to work for good not all this evil.
Of course with everything there are backward steps and I guess my first was when I went back to The Seagull to check the bruising at her walk in clinic. When I asked if she could help with my baby making plans (given it was her suggestion I hurry up about it) and line up all her Doctor friends for me, she replied
"I'm sorry, they are all females. But if that's what your into..."
"eer Dear Doctor of Medicine aren't you missing the point of how a baby is made"
"Oh of course....perhaps after shift finishes at the Blind Beggar (pub) you might have more luck".
The month following surgery was a real roller coaster. Some days bed ridden, some days waiting to be bed ridden, so used to the routine of it all. Ultimately setting my mind adrift with where in the world I should be. Like many people that have been house bound it makes you realise the support networks you have and the people you can rely on. And without the constant messages from my family in New Zealand I am not sure I would have been so positive about the entire thing.
As I return to real life I have begun to recognise that one never knows what's going in anyone elses life healthwise so being kind is always the best approach. And I learnt how much your stomach gets poked, prodded and pushed in an overcrowded city.
I celebrated my new found health by booking flights to Cuba. Seems only fair that I can get back to being myself again now I have got rid of the Mother Trucking beast within.
 |
| so eager to get The Mother Trucker out of my insides |
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