Back among the living
Part IV

It's been a week since the surgery. I feel much better than I thought I would. The stress and anxiety leading up to the surgery was definitely much worse than the actual healing process has turned out to be.

I overdid it a little yesterday, I think, though. I got up and took a shower. Bob took me to the doctor's office for my one-week post-op appointment, then we stopped at Target to get a prescription filled, and the bookstore to get a magazine, then he took me to lunch, and it pretty much wiped me out physically. I think it was all the times getting in and out of the car that did it, and I probably went up and down the stairs a few too many times. I came home and took a three hour nap! Later that evening I felt bloated and swollen, and I took a Tylenol PM so I could sleep all night, but this morning I feel fine. Bob told me to have an easy day today, then tomorrow he'd take me out again and "run you through the mill."

I only have three external stitches--one in my belly button, and one on either side of my abdomen. A nurse removed those yesterday, and the doctor said everything looks good, I'm healing right on schedule. Unless something else comes up, I don't have to go back again for five weeks, when he'll check his handiwork and be sure that the internal stitches have healed properly.

He said I can go back to work next week if I feel like it; I have no restrictions on driving or activity except, of course, to pay attention to how I feel and not overdo it. Well, I guess I do have some restrictions--I can walk as much as I want, but I'm not supposed to go back to my regular weight-based exercise program for six weeks, and when I asked him about sex, he said at three or four weeks we could "experiment," but I think we'll wait until after my six week check-up, I just think that's prudent.

I also learned that there was something else wrong with me, something that hadn't been diagnosed. The doctor said that all the pathology came back benign (I guess they must check that routinely), and that it showed multiple fibroid tumors (as expected), plus adenomyosis. I had heard of that, but didn't know what it was. He explained that adenomyosis is when endometrial tissue (the tissue that normally flows out of the vagina during a menstrual period) migrates to, and gets trapped in, the muscular lining of the uterus.

During a woman's monthly cycle, this trapped tissue tries to get out with the rest of the uterine lining ("Help! Help! I'm trapped and can't get out!!"), and this frequently causes pain and cramping. That may have been the pain that I was having when this all started. Adenomyosis usually can't be detected or diagnosed except as a pathology sample after a hysterectomy, and he said it's the first most likely cause of a hysterectomy, fibroids being second.

It was interesting to know--especially since it's gone now!--and while I don't need any vindication for my decision, I guess it does make me feel like hysterectomy was really the only possible option. If I had tried to do some alternative therapies, or have surgery to remove the fibroids, I would have ended up having a hysterectomy anyway, and I definitely wouldn't have wanted to go through this twice.

Continued from Sunday:

Yes, there were pictures. Sometime later that evening I told Bob that I thought I could look at them, and they were interesting. Pictures taken inside my body, using the laparascope, that showed the fibroids, my ovaries, etc. I think it would have been too weird and scary to see them before the surgery, but afterward, with all the bad stuff gone, it was mostly just interesting.

I suppose the hospital stay itself was "interesting," too. There was something on the IV that made a little clicking noise, and the inflatable, bloodclot-preventing boots on my feet would inflate every few seconds. At first, while I was still out of it, I thought it was someone squeezing my feet. That's what it felt like. And at some point I had been given a nausea-reducing "relief band." When the nurse suggested it, I had envisioned an accupressure band, an elastic wristband with a bead on it to press on an accupressure point, but it turned out to be something that looked like a watch, with the face positioned on my inside wrist.

It had several settings; mine was set on a mid-range one. The nurse rubbed my wrist with gel, then strapped the wristband on and started it, and it began to give me what felt like a mild electric shock every couple of seconds. It made my fingers tingle.

So it was something of a cacophony: CLICK/CLACK/PSHHHHHH/BZZZZ. It was pretty hard to get any sleep, even discounting the fact that, just like a cheap motel, there was an ice machine directly outside my room . . . CLICK/CLACK/PSHHHHHH/BZZZZ/RATTLE.

We lucked out in that I didn't have a roommate the whole time I was there, which was indeed a luxury. We didn't have to put up with anyone else in the bed next to me, or anyone else's friends and relatives. I would doze for a few minutes at a time, then wake up to look over at Bob, and see him in his chair either working on the crossword, reading, or dozing himself.

He went out briefly in the evening to get something to eat, then came back for awhile. I convinced him to go home and sleep--he offered to stay the night--because he'd been up just as long as I had, and I knew he must be exhausted. He left around 8:00, I think, and that began my long night. People kept coming in all night to check on me, which was fine, I completely understand that, and appreciate it. In fact, when I'd been left alone for more than an hour or so, I began to worry . . .

Someone actually woke me up, rather than just disturbing me, at 6:30 to take my blood pressure and temperature, but after that was done, I fell back asleep and got the first good sleep of the night, I think, until 8:30, when Bob got there. And then shortly after that, the doctor came in to see me.

He said my surgery had been "challenging," which someone said is generally a euphemism for "difficult." All the fibroids had been clustered on the left-hand side of my uterus, which apparently made it difficult to remove. Bob had been on the phone when the doctor came in, and when he got off, I said, "The doctor said my surgery was challenging, you should congratulate him," and the doctor said, "He already did. Bob and I high-fived out in the hall!"

We both really liked the surgeon, and had complete faith in him. Of course, I was still anxious about it, but everything turned out fine. He said as soon as I had lunch--which he wanted to be "real" food, meaning something I had to chew--I could leave.

To be continued . . .