When the leaking begins...
Besides being tired a lot and having an attention span just a tad longer than that of a 2nd grader, I thought I was recouping fairly well. I had been humbled by my venture out to Target, focusing on resting in bed the next day with a limited number of trips down the hall and back. After watching my 2nd movie of the day, I got up to discover blood on the heating pad I was using to reduce the bloating and pressure I had been experiencing. I called for my husband, and we investigated the scar to find that it was leaking. We called the doctor, and he said to come in. The receptionist said he had an opening in an hour and a half. That's when my "morbid thoughts are being hidden by my cool under pressure" posture and my husband's "what do I do, and how do I not show her how scared I am?" strained look kicked in.
I had my husband call my brother to alert him that he might need to pick our son up from school. As my husband did that, I started repacking my hospital bag. I had no idea what was going to happen. I was terrified that my guts were going to fall out and/or that the doctor was going to have to put me under again to restitch my incision. I calmly gave my husband one task at a time to do so he would be out of my way as I tried to get control over things that didn't seem to be controllable. These tasks were simple and direct since when he is stressed he can't multi-task. I had a binder filled with all of my hospital records. I grabbed it and my bag and we left for the doctor.
We didn't have to wait long. The nurse brought both of us into the examine room, and she took a look at the incision site. "Yep, you are having frank bleeding," she said. Another one of those terms you hear and have to pause to think about. "Frank" - my incision from evicting Charlie produced frank bleeding - what is it with the men's names and my very female problems? At least my problem was being straightforward. In fact, the situation was so straightforward that we were there for a little over 2 hours while my wound drained all over the exam table.
It is times like these when being in control of things just ain't happening. I had to lay flat and let others clean things up, squish out the old blood and fluids, clean me up some more, etc. My husband definitely got the "for better or worse" part today as he sat letting me squeeze his hand as the doctor squeezed my belly like an inordinately large blister. Leeches would have been useful at this point. It was definitely a "letting" of post-operative fluid retention. The doctor said that some build-up of blood and fluid was normal, but what I was experiencing was the most he had ever seen (Go me! - got to do everything bigger and more dramatically than anyone else). It was actually grosser than my description, but in hind sight, it felt really good to get that stuff out, less of the bloating and more of the floating away on the table in my mess of fluidic discharge.
The hardest part was laying there not able to do anything, watching the doctor and nurse for signs of worry/alarm (that came and went a few times). Watching my hubby as he went from grossed out to clinically fascinated about the process (no choice for him but to do that in the 2+ hours that we were there). I was totally helpless and dependant on others. Not a position (pun intended) that I want to be in again. That was Tuesday; 2 days latter, I'm still a leaky scar, but things can only get better...
Showing posts with label surgery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label surgery. Show all posts
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
6 weeks for recovery...
6 weeks for recovery...
I thought that 6 weeks was a LONG time for a recovery period. I'm a quick healer, I'll bounce back quicker. Well, when a week to the day after my surgery I asked my husband to take me for a walk around Target to look at a deck box and pick up a few things, I figured that would be a good walk. The doctor said I should be walking around a little each day increasing the duration with each walk. This is the theory of the recovery cycle for a hysterectomy patient's post-operative health.
Theory & practice do not always mesh. It is totally different to be walking around in the house than it is to be in a store. Being out in public and walking like I was 90 years old, was a little strange. Too many people was the first thing that threw me. The second is the one thing they don't tell you about in the hospital when you check out -- the bloated feeling after surgery and the back pain that comes with it. BLOATED BLOATED BLOATED!!! WOW, I know how those large Macy's Thanksgiving balloons feel when they are at top form in the early morning of the 4th Thursday each November.
So, when we got home, I crawled into bed, took a mega pain killer, and SLEPT!!! Who knew that TARGET would get me in the end...I shopped until I dropped. Now, I drop after about 10 minutes. Maybe tomorrow will be a longer day! So, 6 weeks now seems like a reasonable amount of time for recovery. It takes a lot for me to learn how to not push myself...
I thought that 6 weeks was a LONG time for a recovery period. I'm a quick healer, I'll bounce back quicker. Well, when a week to the day after my surgery I asked my husband to take me for a walk around Target to look at a deck box and pick up a few things, I figured that would be a good walk. The doctor said I should be walking around a little each day increasing the duration with each walk. This is the theory of the recovery cycle for a hysterectomy patient's post-operative health.
Theory & practice do not always mesh. It is totally different to be walking around in the house than it is to be in a store. Being out in public and walking like I was 90 years old, was a little strange. Too many people was the first thing that threw me. The second is the one thing they don't tell you about in the hospital when you check out -- the bloated feeling after surgery and the back pain that comes with it. BLOATED BLOATED BLOATED!!! WOW, I know how those large Macy's Thanksgiving balloons feel when they are at top form in the early morning of the 4th Thursday each November.
So, when we got home, I crawled into bed, took a mega pain killer, and SLEPT!!! Who knew that TARGET would get me in the end...I shopped until I dropped. Now, I drop after about 10 minutes. Maybe tomorrow will be a longer day! So, 6 weeks now seems like a reasonable amount of time for recovery. It takes a lot for me to learn how to not push myself...
Operation Evict Charlie...
Operation Evict Charlie...
A little over a week ago, 9 days to be precise, I had a hysterectomy... a supracervical hysterectomy with no opharectomy. Gotta love the terminology -- kept the cervix and the ovaries. When the doctor told me in mid-March that I would need to have a hysterectomy to relieve all the physical problems I was having as a result of the large fibroid on my uterus (at the time we thought it was the size of a grapefruit), I knew it was coming. 6 years earlier my previous obgyn told me that I had fibroids, and that while things were not bad then, they would probably get worse and that I should have a hysterectomy. I was 35 at the time and didn't want to hear about a permanent sterilization to my already "infertile" body. I told him to wait until I was 40. So, 4 days before my 41st birthday, my current doctor examined me and told me that it was time. My symptoms were so bad that I had become severely anemic and my life revolved around my period. 2 weeks every month were absolute agony. So, it was time...
In my own perverse way of dealing with the stress of knowing that a part of me was going to be surgically removed, I decided to name the fibroid Charlie. I have no idea why I picked that name, but it suddenly became fun to say "bye bye Charlie" time is near and other silliness. When I shared with folks at work and in the family, the refrain was - "How's Charlie? Ready to get him out?" . Somehow naming this parasitic growth both depersonalized a very intimate and personal situation while simultaneously anthropomorphizing a mound of tissues that was making my life miserable.
More tests happened and a surgery date was set. It felt like eternity, but really only a matter of weeks went by before the surgery happened last week. In preparation for the surgery, I started doing research and found the Mayo Clinic site to be very informative (www.mayoclinic.com). I particularly connected with the individual profiles. It was good to see that I was not alone in what was happening to my body. So, 10 days after having evicted Charlie (with a lot of assistance from my obgyn), I am starting to feel that relief that I read about from so many women. It seems like every woman who has a hysterectomy wonders why she didn't do it sooner. I know why I chose not to do it sooner, but the relief is no less sweet at this time. Recovery is interesting, and I plan to write more about what they don't tell you about the post-operative symptoms and other fun stuff. All my research was able to draw out was the pre-surgery, what happens during the surgery, and the "Thank God" I did it. Nobody says anything about what happens in between the surgery and "Thank God". It is actually an interesting place. More to come on that....
P.S.
I was curious, so I had the surgeon take a picture. If you are squeamish at all, DON'T look. If you have a weird sense of adventure and medical curiosity, take a look at Charlie. The scapel in the picture is 12 inches long, and Charlie had to be cut in order to get him out. He was heart shaped and about a foot squarish...
A little over a week ago, 9 days to be precise, I had a hysterectomy... a supracervical hysterectomy with no opharectomy. Gotta love the terminology -- kept the cervix and the ovaries. When the doctor told me in mid-March that I would need to have a hysterectomy to relieve all the physical problems I was having as a result of the large fibroid on my uterus (at the time we thought it was the size of a grapefruit), I knew it was coming. 6 years earlier my previous obgyn told me that I had fibroids, and that while things were not bad then, they would probably get worse and that I should have a hysterectomy. I was 35 at the time and didn't want to hear about a permanent sterilization to my already "infertile" body. I told him to wait until I was 40. So, 4 days before my 41st birthday, my current doctor examined me and told me that it was time. My symptoms were so bad that I had become severely anemic and my life revolved around my period. 2 weeks every month were absolute agony. So, it was time...
In my own perverse way of dealing with the stress of knowing that a part of me was going to be surgically removed, I decided to name the fibroid Charlie. I have no idea why I picked that name, but it suddenly became fun to say "bye bye Charlie" time is near and other silliness. When I shared with folks at work and in the family, the refrain was - "How's Charlie? Ready to get him out?" . Somehow naming this parasitic growth both depersonalized a very intimate and personal situation while simultaneously anthropomorphizing a mound of tissues that was making my life miserable.
More tests happened and a surgery date was set. It felt like eternity, but really only a matter of weeks went by before the surgery happened last week. In preparation for the surgery, I started doing research and found the Mayo Clinic site to be very informative (www.mayoclinic.com). I particularly connected with the individual profiles. It was good to see that I was not alone in what was happening to my body. So, 10 days after having evicted Charlie (with a lot of assistance from my obgyn), I am starting to feel that relief that I read about from so many women. It seems like every woman who has a hysterectomy wonders why she didn't do it sooner. I know why I chose not to do it sooner, but the relief is no less sweet at this time. Recovery is interesting, and I plan to write more about what they don't tell you about the post-operative symptoms and other fun stuff. All my research was able to draw out was the pre-surgery, what happens during the surgery, and the "Thank God" I did it. Nobody says anything about what happens in between the surgery and "Thank God". It is actually an interesting place. More to come on that....
P.S.
I was curious, so I had the surgeon take a picture. If you are squeamish at all, DON'T look. If you have a weird sense of adventure and medical curiosity, take a look at Charlie. The scapel in the picture is 12 inches long, and Charlie had to be cut in order to get him out. He was heart shaped and about a foot squarish...
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