The Operating Room Looked Nothing Like ‘Grays Anatomy’

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“The Operating Room Looked Nothing Like ‘Grays Anatomy’”
My damn veins were NOT cooperating while I was laying there in the operating room and the anesthesiologist tried to get an IV in me. I told him they roll on my wrists but naturally a man who has done this countless times felt he knew best and kept trying. Luckily he shot me with some kind of numbing agent so I didn’t care. (When I woke, I had an IV in my hand.)
A few months ago I found out I had a large uterine fibroid which was causing a lot of discomfort and needed to be removed. Fibroids are not life threatening, though some times they grow to ridiculous sizes. One of the heavier reported fibroids in history was over 25 lbs. I am definitely not the worst scenario. Mine was however the size of a small football, which was larger than the originally thought large grapefruit and we figured weighed about 1.5 lbs. You couldn’t ask to lose a pound and a half any faster.
I realized in January this year that something was not right. I started noticing a large bump in my pelvis area and it would swell a few days a month and then be almost invisible except when I was laying down. Ty and I were on our way to Denver and, though usually I am a great traveller, I kept making him stop at the rest stops. I just couldn’t hold it like I used to. I was waiting to get in to see a new OB to see what the problem was and finally got to see her in March. She knew what it was as soon as she saw and she looked pretty surprised at the size. She told me that if it didn’t cause any problems I could leave it in as long as I wanted but it was getting to a point of serious discomfort and was beginning to affect my every day life so I had to bite the bullet.
I avoided the oh so frustrating and attention asking Facebook posts about it and told people that I figured would notice my social absence in email, text etc and pretty much kept it hush hush. I think of Facebook as a ‘spread the word’ media and this wasn’t a ‘spread the word’ situation. But then as I lay in the hospital I decided that blogging about it would be a different story. First, its post surgery, asking for no sympathy, worry, or ‘its gonna be ok’s; Second, Blogs don’t have the need for comment the way Facebook does which is my first hang up. I want to talk about my experience for those who have been or may go through this to help and don’t want to ask for attention and do so in more than the 40 characters allotted; Third, I have about 400 friends on Facebook, 350 of which I rarely hear from or speak to, and 30 of whom probably don’t read this blog. (No offense, or discredit to anyone but if you’re on Facebook, you know how it goes). Last but not least, my personal struggle is so small compared to perfect strangers and recent family members who have been diagnosed with far worse. I need not ask for prayers and help when so many people need it more. (Ty’s cousin recently found out his body is riddled with cancer. It seems hardly fair to worry about me when he and his family need help that I don’t require)
*Now that I’m done with that rant*
I was a little nervous about the surgery. After all, I’ve never so much as broken a bone. (Call me what you will but I am not a prissy girl…..just safe) It took some good friends to point out that I was in a depressive funk and had to get back to me. After playing a very down and deep set at our favorite bar, I went home and cried one night. I felt better after that. Aah, how therapeutic a good cry can be, and yet seen as weakness. Interesting.
I went in for my pre-op and listened to all the horrible things that could happen with rare chance, and some of them were actually laughable. “On rare occasions, while removing the fibroid, due to its close proximity to your bowels, a small incision can occur causing bowel leakage into your uterus and infection. In this case a specialist will be called in to fix this and you will be closely monitored.’ I laughed and said to my OB ‘So, you’re saying I could literally shit my own uterus? How would you list that in my obituary?’ She laughed. (In these cases I wonder why an extra procedure would not be covered by the hospital. If you order a meal that is made improperly, does the restaurant not refund the price? Just a thought here people)
Sadly, there are risks as with any surgery. If there is too much blood flow to the fibroid (which we were 99% sure there was a LOT) I could bleed out and if the complications were too much, they would have to give me a hysterectomy or I could even die. This was one of my biggest worries.
5/4/10 Day of Surgery
My sister Kristianna, having previously teased me about my awesome situation, referenced ‘Alien’ saying that my fibroid was actually an alien getting ready to burst out of my belly at any moment, and changed the procedure name from a myomectomy or something like that, to an alien-infant-ectomy. I showed to the hospital and checked in. Kristi, Ty, and my dad were with me. They took me in back to put on the super sexy robe and pee in a cup and then asked me questions that seem silly to ask a pre op patient of any sort. ‘What is your desired outcome?’ ‘To live’ I said ‘How can we make sure to reach your desired outcome’ ‘I’m alive after surgery’ I said. (These are REALLY the questions and answers given)
The anesthesiologist came in and was ready to go even though I hadn’t given blood or been given my IV tube so they put me in a bed, I said goodbye to Ty and they took me off. After prep questions making sure I understood the procedure, they took me in the room. I lay there thinking ‘This looks nothing like ‘Grays Anatomy’ and soon fell asleep. I was somewhat conscious to hear the nurse in recovery talking to another nurse and saying I lost a lot of blood and saying how pale I was. I woke again as I was wheeled into my room because I heard Ty’s voice. It made me conscious and I wanted to hold his hand but couldn’t really move. The next 3 days were groggy. I had a morphine pump that I used as little as I could because I wanted to make sure I could handle it if I didn’t get meds when I needed, (which later proved to be the best idea I’d had because my nurses never brought my meds on time and I would have to page them to ask for them). I also had a catheter that didn’t drain properly so I always had a full bladder until they drained it, and was given 2 bags of blood the first night. (my joke referenced Sesame Street’s Count saying ‘1 bag of blood wa ah ah, 2 bags of blood wa ah ah…’) Thank God for the following: Kristi or Ty staying with me, my wonderful visitors, and my CNA Ian, who made me walk when I didn’t want to and just get the hell out of bed because I needed someone to knowingly nudge me and make me get better. I came home Thursday afternoon and slept. I realized my bed was higher than the hospitals and had some trouble getting in and out for the first day, but soon figured out the trick. Family brought food and visited, and I figured out how to wash my hair in the sink and brush my teeth using a Dixie cup to spit. Ty helped me take a wanna be bath today and let me just say WHAT a difference! It really is the little things in life that you forget are so wonderful, like showering, sitting outside in the sun, walking, breathing, and just being totally independent. Even now I sit here writing filled with oxycodone and prescription strength Ibuprofen with an ice pack on my wound wishing I could just have a good stretch. (forgive any scatterbrained thoughts)
I have realized with all the personal and embarrassing things happening through all this how important it is to have close friends and family who love you no mater what. I lay here in a night gown that is far to large for me for the purpose of movement, wearing knit underwear that the hospital gave me (and let me just say it is some SEXY underwear), unable to fully shower, waking Ty up at all hours of the night with needs like ice in my ice pack, and the tums from the car, as well as some extremely personal and unmentionable circumstances that are only for the closest of close friends, and I am thankful that the people I surround myself with are truly my friends. People that love me and worry for me and bring me flowers and food and stuffed animals and I am so glad that I didn’t shit my uterus and die.