We broke up. It was a long time coming, if I’m being
honest. Although our lives had been
inexplicably intertwined for what seemed like my entire life, the last thirty-plus
years had found us in a love-hate relationship that saw two particularly ethereal
years that resulted in the most amazing people on the planet – namely my
children. The rest of the time, I didn’t
seem to get much out of the union except pain, irritability, and unpredictable
behavior. So, after much soul-searching,
seeking guidance from professionals, and counsel of family and friends, I
decided to call it quits. We’re
done.
My uterus and I have been
surgically separated forever.
I know that not all
readers will be interested in the medical details of my predicament so, for
those of you who don’t, STOP READING! But,
for the purposes of medical posterity, I’ll share all of the gory minutia.
The final decision came
after a 15-month long diagnostic search with two doctors, dozens of tests, and
more blood than should reasonably escape one body without resulting in
death.
Last year, I finally
consulted my regular nurse practitioner about my periods changing. Although they were coming at regular
intervals and lasting about the same amount of time, they were becoming more
and more red, contained more and more clots, and resulted in pain primarily on
my right side. She did a pelvic
examination and ruled out cervical cancer via a pap smear, but was not able to palpate
my right ovary. So, I was sent for an
internal ultrasound. The technician,
once again, could not locate my right ovary, and the radiologist concluded it
may have been hiding behind my colon. Other
than scar tissue on my uterus from my 21-year old caesarian section, there was
nothing of value found.
Shortly thereafter, my
oldest brother passed away (that’s another post), and my stressed out body
threw itself into a 7-week long period.
Yes. Seven weeks. Without
stopping. For Seven Weeks. Seven. **sigh**
After returning from
the funeral and consulting with my NP again, I was referred for a uterine
biopsy. I chose an Ob/Gyn that my
daughter enjoyed working with in the maternity department, Dr. Steven Thackeray,
and called to make an appointment. It
would take five weeks to get in. Hmmm .
. . he’s either really good, or really handsome. (Turns out, both.) After the long, long, long, wait, I endured a
less-painful-than-expected biopsy, and then began the long, long, long, wait
for the results.
I’m not a fan of ‘the
call.’ It doesn’t matter what the
subject is, if you’re expecting ‘the call,’ it is not usually a fun wait. Nor was this.
And, it turned out my trepidation was not unfounded. I was diagnosed
with complex endometrial hyperplasia without atypia.
According to WebMD,
death was imminent. Fortunately, I had
the wherewithal to research further, and found out that, complex endometrial
hyperplasia occurs when the lining of the uterus doesn’t shed. Instead it
builds up and crowds in the uterus. [Side note: I found this odd, since my
periods had been hellacious and showed no signs of ‘not shedding.’] These
crowded cells increase the risk of developing into endometrial cancer. Simple
endometrial hyperplasia is easily treated and less than one percent of patients
develop cancer. Complex endometrial hyperplasia is a type of hyperplasia where
the lining is even thicker. ‘Without atypia’ indicates the cells are thicker
than simple hyperplasia, but are normal in appearance. Patients have a 10%
higher risk of developing cancer.
I was given several
options for treatment, one that my doctor recommended which, of course, is the
one I chose. I scheduled my hysterectomy
for mid-April, citing all of those unimportant yet critical timing issues like a
class I was scheduled to teach, a co-worker who was already on a leave of
absence, being mid-term at school, blah, blah, blah, and ended up taking norethindrone
(a form of progesterone) to keep the condition from progressing.
On April 15, I went in
for my pre-op appointment to learn exactly what would happen the next day and
ask any last-minute questions. I called
the nurse later that day and was given the instruction to not eat or drink past
midnight, shower, don’t shave, hold off on my medications the night before, and
report for surgery at 5:30 a.m.
The next morning, “naughty
me” had ½ mug of coffee, trying to preempt a caffeine headache as I pulled out
of my anesthesia, which resulted in a four hour delay. Apparently, my understanding that avoiding
food and drinks the night before a surgery would prevent throwing up after waking up was incomplete. There is also a risk of throwing up during the surgery, causing aspiration
and possibly death, and the proteins and enzymes in food cause medications
given before, during and after surgery to react differently in our bodies,
which can have fatal results. The
anesthesiologist, thankfully, refused to take the risk. All in all, it was worth waiting the four
hours, but I felt bad that they had to swap me with a later-scheduled patient
to take my early spot and delay their whole surgical day about an hour because
of my indiscretion. Needless to say,
that caffeine headache was well-kicked in by the time I went in for surgery at
11:45, let alone when I woke up. C'était
ma faute. Note to self, follow
directions.
My pre-surgical nurse,
Stephanie, was very sweet and understanding, and allowed us to sleep in the
room for a while until it was time to ‘go upstairs.’ A nice technician wheeled me to the second
floor, where I said goodbye to Dave, and parked me in a hallway with a white
board on the wall at my feet indicating my doctors, nurse (Heireann –
pronounced ‘Erin’ – only in Utah), anesthesiologist, surgical tech, and arrival
time. One by one, each practitioner came
to my bedside to introduce themselves, ask questions about my current status,
and assure & reassure me.
The anesthesiologist
finally wheeled me into the surgical suite, which was large and well
appointed. As instructed previously by
my nurse, I clarified where I was to place my tailbone when I scooted over to
the surgical table . . . I heard Dave’s voice say hello as I was wheeled through
a door somewhere . . . and I was in my room being introduced to Diana, the
first of three delightful nurses, and Emily, one of two CNAs that would take
perfect care of me over the next twenty-something hours. At least that’s all the drugs would allow my memory
to retain.
In the meantime, while
I was blissfully unaware, my uterus, fallopian tubes, and cervix were disconnected
through three laparoscopic incisions – one in my belly button, and one on each
side of my abdomen about an inch lower – and then removed vaginally, intact in
case of any cancer cells having developed.
The surgery took about two hours.
We would find out later that there was very little bleeding, no
complications, and that my ovaries appeared to be completely normal (even the
rogue right one), so they were left in place, avoiding the need for future
hormone replacement therapy. I spent the
next hour or so in a recovery room, shrouded by a curtain from the many others groggily
awakening from various levels of unconsciousness. I was wheeled to the third floor of the women’s
center and settled in a comfortable, private room, where I would spend the next
few hours waking up.
For some reason
(perhaps my 40+ years of knowing that wetting the bed was not preferred) my
body would not pee in a bed pan.
Unfortunately, I had to go, and made the mistake of attempting to get to
the bathroom – assisted by Diana and Emily – after just 2 hours
post-surgery. I passed out twice, and a
crisis team had to be called in to get me safely back into bed. Dave had just headed down to the cafeteria to
get some lunch and missed all of the excitement, much to his dismay.
I had a relatively
uneventful night, being taken care of by Denise and Katana, and eventually
making it to the restroom without assistance.
By 10:00 the next morning, I was so ready to go home and get in my own
bed. After having chatted with the
doctor earlier and received his blessing to go, my day nurse, Hillary, started
the paperwork, ordered my prescriptions, and gave me all of the ‘getting-ready-to-go-home’
teaching info. Dave, me, my great new
mug, and my beautiful lilies were out of there at about 12:45, and not a minute
too soon.
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| My faithful recovery companions |
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| My swollen belly |
On Monday, Dr.
Thackeray called to say the pathology report came back and there is NO
CANCER!!! Yet another miracle in my
humble life.
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| From my neighbor, Jennifer Kerr (these came along with cupcakes, which were promptly devoured) |
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| From my BFF, Shannon Thomas |
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| From my coworkers, along with a cute get-well balloon |