Oh, hello there.
Yes, I still write over here. With all these newly acquired followers/readers, I guess I didn't pick the best time to go on a blog hiatus. For the people that have been here awhile, bear with me as I get back into my groove. And for the new people... bear with me.
13 days ago, I had the lining of uterus practically boiled away (HTA- 200 degrees. Boiling water- 212 degrees), and a laparoscopic tubal ligation. I guess in the near future I'll do an "about me" blog post for the new readers, but, the procedures were done to a) stop me from constantly bleeding, and b) stop me from being able to have babies.
Going forward with this surgery wasn't an easy decision; I don't know many 32 year-old women who choose to go under the knife so they can permanently prevent pregnancy. There were lots of conversations with doctors, Steve and my sister, hours hitting up the Googles, so many tears shed, and sleepless nights. Hell, I'm still doing all of that, and I'm 2 weeks out!
The morning of the surgery I was cranky and hungry. I spent the 2 months prior to that day thinking I was going to get one type of procedure, and then a late Friday afternoon phone call from my doctor 3 days before, changed it all. My brain hurt.
Back in the pre-op area, I got to put on a super sexy Cooper gown (opening in the back!), and answer a million questions from the nurse. Spending my medical childhood and nursing career at CHOP always makes me hate adult hospitals. The care is just not the same. Don't get me wrong, the nurse was great, there's just a difference that I can't put into words.
I LOVE adult hospitals
She was great until she wanted to put an IV in my hand. I told her the veins in my hand always blow, but she insists the anesthesiologist has to have it there. Please. Does she know who am I? Does she know what I do? I work at CHOP, and our anesthesiologists will take an IV wherever they can get one.
I swear, I don't normally act/think this way. I was in a REALLY bad mental place. And on the brink of hypoglycemic rage. I wanted a fucking Oreo in the worst way.
I humored her, and gave her my hand. Let her try. I'd laugh my ass off when she couldn't get it. Being stuck for IV's doesn't phase me. Stick away, woman.
As she was deep sea vein diving, the anesthesiologist came in with a million questions about my cardiac history, and I stopped paying attention to the nurse. That was until I realized she was injecting saline into my vein to puff it up for the IV. Oh, did that piss me off. I didn't want this bitch to be able to get the IV in. She was supposed to miss so I could say "I told you so!"
She got it in. Was I imagining that smug look on her face as she hung my IV fluids?
I'm not sure why her putting an IV in my hand catapulted me over the emotional cliff, but after she left the room, I lost it. The tears fell from my eyes and I sobbed, the reality of what I was doing finally setting in.
The anesthesiologist was so sweet, silently handed me a box of tissues, and let Steve and I be. In a matter of a few minutes, I questioned if I was doing the right thing, if I was making a huge mistake. What if? What if? What if?
Steve was there to catch me right before I landed on the ground, reminding me this is the decision we came to together, and why we were doing it. It still hurts. Oh God, does it hurt that it came to this. But he was right, we came to this decision together.
In the middle of my tears I farted, which caused me to giggle like a 6 year-old.
IV's in the hand suck. But, farts are always funny.
Soon I was heading into the OR, and once in there I was strapped down to the table, hooked up to a million wires and monitors, and luckily covered in warm blankets.
The surgeon said, "Alright Mar, what island are you going to when you go to sleep?"
I chose St. Lucia, it's where we went on our honeymoon. Although, now that I think about it, the St Lucian sun is what triggered my initial flare.
The last thing I remember is Big Me by Foo Fighters playing on the radio and saying to one of the nurses, "I love the Foo Fighters, this is a good sign!"
And then I was waking up in the PACU, groggy, in pain, but Steve right next to me. There was some issues with a piece of equipment in the OR, so I was under an hour longer than I needed to be. Other than that, all went well with the surgery.
Again, I was reminded how different the adult medical world is from pediatrics, and as soon as my pain was under control and I could tolerate juice, crackers and oral pain meds, they sent me on my way.
Physically, I feel pretty good, I just notice I get tired very easily. I only needed the narcotic pain meds for a few days. The gas pain was the worst part, but at least all the farts gave me something to laugh about.
My mind hasn't quite recovered, I find myself getting into funks. I guess it will last for awhile. Maybe it will last forever. I hope it gets easier, and that I stop torturing myself with 'what-ifs.' Those things will no doubt break your spirit. And your brain.
As usual, the support from everyone is what keeps me going.
Love you all!
This isn't a 'weekend' blog post, but I'm linking up with some of my favorites, anyway!
Today is the last day for the $165 Sephora or Ulta giveaway!!!!