Surgery is over!!! The new women's hospital is absolutely beautiful. It's where I want to deliver our child (when I was fixed on having a home birth and Nicole was terrified at the concept, I had told her this hospital would be a way to compromise) so it gave me great comfort when I was told my surgery would be there. They have an entire floor for gynecological surgery and it's a new building with beautiful amenities. Beautiful cozy waiting areas, plants, modern tiling, a cushy chair with a footrest for me to wait in, and just a handful of beds per area so you have a lot of privacy and nurse attention. As soon as I passed by the beautiful tree that looks like a synagogue's tree of life, the only decoration in a long hallway, I knew I would be okay. It also didn't hurt that the first nurse to attend to me, a scrappy, cheerful middle-aged woman with a big personality, had the same uncommon name as my mother. I was comforted and reassured without anyone needing to do so for me.
I tried to focus on each step one at a time rather than the larger picture so I wouldn't begin to get anxious, but when I was led into the OR and it looked just like on TV, I started to freak out. There were about five or six people in scrubs prepping in different areas, machines going, and all kinds of sterile-looking equipment. The idea that all these people were in here to knock me out, open me up, and operate on me was suddenly pretty terrifying. I lied down as instructed and both my doctor and the young resident who'd introduced himself earlier were right by me. The resident must have seen the fear in my eyes as everyone else just flew about (I imagine still being new to it all makes you more sensitive to that), and he squeezed my thigh with a smile and said, "Don't worry, we're going to take really good care of you." Well that's all it took for the tears to start rolling, and he tried to distract and comfort me by having me talk about other things. And meanwhile, my Finnish surgeon, whom I'd only known so far to be pretty stern and matter-of-fact, smiled warmly as she used gauze to wipe the tears out of the corners of my eyes. Then the mask went on with the blessed gas and that was all she wrote.
I had no idea that my cyst ended up being a rare, disgusting type (dermoid - don't look it up while eating) that is soft and falls apart so it took two extra hours for the surgeon to take it out piece by piece. I had no idea that my asthma complicated things during recovery and that I had all kinds of machinery monitoring my oxygen levels while Nicole wondered why I had still not woken up. I didn't know that the surgeon came out beaming to Nicole to tell her that the cyst was the only issue and that I have a beautiful, healthy reproductive system. I just remember hearing someone calling my name, telling me to wake up, and me rasping (from the tube down my throat), "Nicole" a few times til they understood what I was asking for and brought her to me for just a few seconds before rushing her back out.
They almost admitted me because I couldn't keep my oxygen levels up. They had me on some very strong drug that they almost never give out, but had because I seemed to be in such pain after surgery despite whatever else they had given me. This drug kept me knocked out, and every time I started to fade back out, I would make crazy moaning sounds as I struggled to breathe and the machine would beep, warning that my oxygen levels had dipped below 90 again. I would whimper, "Oh no, I failed again, they're never going to let me go home!" and then try valiantly to stay awake and breathe in deeply for long enough that they'd release me, before inevitably fading back out again.
Those kind nurses stayed for an hour and a half after the unit was supposed to close in order to try to stabilize me and get me home, where I made the mistake of taking the prescribed extra-strength Motrin and spending all night struggling to breathe again. Apparently I DO have a medication allergy.
I tried to eat at home, since I had been on a liquid diet all day Thursday and then had had nothing to eat or drink on Friday, but even homemade chicken soup made me feel nauseous. I tried to eat a biscuit, thinking something bland would be better, but my mouth was so dry that it was like chewing paste so I had to stop. I gave up and went to sleep.
As much pain as I was in and as hard as it was to breathe, move, do anything, I have such a sweet memory of that first night. I stayed on the couch downstairs, and Nicole made a bed out of blankets on the floor next to me so she could watch my breathing and help me if I needed to get up to use the bathroom. We had Shabbat candles burning on the mantel. Our cat Lily curled up on top of her cat tree, and Jack curled up on one of Nicole's blankets. It was like a little family slumber party.
Nicole has been an amazing nurse to me. She has gotten me everything I needed, sponge bathed me at the kitchen sink, held me when I cried from pain after standing up, has taken on all of the household chores without complaint, and has just been so sweet and affectionate.
She has also been taken into the grip of baby fever. The idea of me going into surgery had been scary enough to her for her to not be able to think of the long-term goal very much. Babies were inextricably linked to the idea of her wife going under the knife. Now that it's behind us, she keeps reminding me that we need to ask at my post-op how soon we can start trying. She is so excited and that has ME so excited and now there is no one to rein us in!!
wedding
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Surgery Week and the Urge to Fast Forward
I'm exhausted and anxious, so I intend to make this a quick and to-the-point post just to keep documenting my journey.
I went Friday for presurgical testing, which was basically just a physical to ensure it's safe for me to undergo surgery. Apparently this is something PCP's can do, and since I ended up having to go there anyway for follow-up on my continued slightly elevated blood pressure, I wish someone had told me that and offered me the option of making my own appointment at my PCP. Instead, after my surgery was scheduled, I was just informed when and where to go for my presurgical appointment.
So they took tons of blood, took down a family history, checked my vitals. They did an EKG since my blood pressure was elevated. A half hour or more later, they told me to make an appointment with my PCP to get clearance to undergo surgery with the high blood pressure. Um...it's the Friday before Christmas, my surgery is next Friday, and you want me to go when exactly?? In a practice with five or six doctors, there was only one appointment available Christmas week, and that was Monday, December 23, at 7:00 PM. I already had a 3:15 appointment in Long Island for follow-up X-rays on my foot, and then had to hobble into Manhattan on my broken foot for a 7PM appointment with my PCP. I was dreading Monday!!
My PCP was not worried about my blood pressure for surgery and said getting clearance from a PCP with a full medical history on me is just protocol. She said it's a low-risk surgery, and I'm in a relatively low-risk demographic even with my "obesity, prediabetes, and high blood pressure." Gar. She said she is more worried about pregnancy with my health than she is about surgery. She said, "Surgery will be fine. Don't worry about Friday. But you need to worry about pregnancy. Drop some weight." I know she's right. My sister had similar blood pressure issues before pregnancy and I'm watching her deal with the complications. I'm not going to be able to fix everything in a few months, but if I make some changes and lose some of this extra weight I've put on in the past few years, I know there will be a change in some of those numbers. I can only be in better shape for being healthier, even if I'm still somewhat at risk.
So she gave me the clearance and I hobbled back home. Now I anxiously await tomorrow's bowel cleanse in preparation for surgery. This includes two enemas, drinking a bottle of magnesium citrate, and being on a liquid diet. Then I can't eat or drink anything past 11:00 PM for surgery the next day. So I will pretty much be STARVING by the time I'm recovering Friday evening.
I'm trying to do what I did in graduate school when I started to panic and feel overwhelmed with deadlines for major research papers. I'd focus on the task at hand and try to get through it, but part of me also had to be dissociating a bit and looking forward, thinking, "No matter what happens, in ___ days this will all be over." I'm keeping my eye on Friday night, which is not that far away, because even if I'm in pain, it will all be over! Then I will have the longer road ahead of getting my body into better health in order for us to stay on target with trying to conceive in a few months.
I went Friday for presurgical testing, which was basically just a physical to ensure it's safe for me to undergo surgery. Apparently this is something PCP's can do, and since I ended up having to go there anyway for follow-up on my continued slightly elevated blood pressure, I wish someone had told me that and offered me the option of making my own appointment at my PCP. Instead, after my surgery was scheduled, I was just informed when and where to go for my presurgical appointment.
So they took tons of blood, took down a family history, checked my vitals. They did an EKG since my blood pressure was elevated. A half hour or more later, they told me to make an appointment with my PCP to get clearance to undergo surgery with the high blood pressure. Um...it's the Friday before Christmas, my surgery is next Friday, and you want me to go when exactly?? In a practice with five or six doctors, there was only one appointment available Christmas week, and that was Monday, December 23, at 7:00 PM. I already had a 3:15 appointment in Long Island for follow-up X-rays on my foot, and then had to hobble into Manhattan on my broken foot for a 7PM appointment with my PCP. I was dreading Monday!!
My PCP was not worried about my blood pressure for surgery and said getting clearance from a PCP with a full medical history on me is just protocol. She said it's a low-risk surgery, and I'm in a relatively low-risk demographic even with my "obesity, prediabetes, and high blood pressure." Gar. She said she is more worried about pregnancy with my health than she is about surgery. She said, "Surgery will be fine. Don't worry about Friday. But you need to worry about pregnancy. Drop some weight." I know she's right. My sister had similar blood pressure issues before pregnancy and I'm watching her deal with the complications. I'm not going to be able to fix everything in a few months, but if I make some changes and lose some of this extra weight I've put on in the past few years, I know there will be a change in some of those numbers. I can only be in better shape for being healthier, even if I'm still somewhat at risk.
So she gave me the clearance and I hobbled back home. Now I anxiously await tomorrow's bowel cleanse in preparation for surgery. This includes two enemas, drinking a bottle of magnesium citrate, and being on a liquid diet. Then I can't eat or drink anything past 11:00 PM for surgery the next day. So I will pretty much be STARVING by the time I'm recovering Friday evening.
I'm trying to do what I did in graduate school when I started to panic and feel overwhelmed with deadlines for major research papers. I'd focus on the task at hand and try to get through it, but part of me also had to be dissociating a bit and looking forward, thinking, "No matter what happens, in ___ days this will all be over." I'm keeping my eye on Friday night, which is not that far away, because even if I'm in pain, it will all be over! Then I will have the longer road ahead of getting my body into better health in order for us to stay on target with trying to conceive in a few months.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Keeping My Eyes on the Prize
As I waited patiently for my next period to come so I could call and schedule surgery, after being denied it when I called during the last one, life decided to throw me a small curveball in the form of tripping down my basement steps and breaking my foot. I actually only tripped down one step. I was carrying several shopping bags and couldn't see in front of me and thought I was at the floor level when really I had one more step to go. So I stepped forward and just fell, my poor lateral left foot taking the brunt of the accident.
Nicole said I never cry, so that's how she knew something was really wrong. Well, to be more accurate, I cry at the drop of a hat when it comes to emotional triggers, but am pretty stoic with physical pain and discomfort. Not that I don't feel it, I'm just used to handling it internally and am not so expressive about it. So when Nicole saw me crying and unmoving on the floor of the basement after she heard the thud, she told me I really should stay home and ice and elevate my foot. I protested, much as I did in 5th grade when I got hit in the head with a baseball bat and was devastated when my father showed up to take me home. Stoic, I tell you. Or maybe stubborn. But when I touched my foot in preparation to put on my rain boots, it was so tender that I winced, and I agreed to stay home. When it didn't get any better in the next hour or so, Nicole offered to come home from work and take me to urgent care, where x-rays revealed a clean and complete fracture of my fifth metatarsal. An orthopedist visit followed, where I was put in a boot and instructed not to go to work and to stay off my feet for at least two weeks, when I will come in for more x-rays and a re-evaluation.
My devastation was twofold. First, I worried that this might interfere with my ability to get surgery for yet another month, and I am just so done with dragging this out. However, many people have since told me that it should not be a barrier, as it would be mostly healed by then and I am not on any pain medication.
Second and more upsetting is that I have been working for years to accrue the maximum amount of paid leave I can have for maternity leave. We don't get any paid maternity leave, but can take up to six months off with our position guaranteed upon our return, so I want to take as much paid time as I can. This means having my annual vacation of five weeks, two vacation weeks I can roll over, my "sick bank" which is maxed out at five weeks, my regular accrued sick time which is maxed out at five weeks, and one week of emergency time. This comes to a grand total of 18 weeks paid. I have worked very hard to get to this. I have been a miser with how much vacation time I will take for any given event, making sure for the past two years that I keep two weeks to roll over, never knowing for sure which year will be "the year." I have been using my sick time very sparingly so that it has time to renew. And now I'm dipping into it for a stupid, preventable foot injury.
I know that I need to follow doctor's orders so that I heal properly and am not followed by this for the rest of my life. I know this. But if I have anything less than 18 paid weeks to take off with my new baby, I am going to be heartbroken. That's not much time as it is. If I could afford to, I would be taking off the first two or three years!
I started my period while in South Carolina this weekend visiting my family. I called the clinic Friday and attempted to schedule my surgery, which should happen between the eight and tenth day of my cycle. The eight day would be this Thursday, and the ninth would be Friday. The tenth would be unavailable because it's a weekend. So apparently my doctor felt that it was too risky to schedule for Thursday, that I might still be on my period since it lasts seven to eight days. So she scheduled me for the following Friday, December 27, and stated I would need to get on the birth control pill to prevent me from ovulating before then. (Why didn't she just do this last month when she couldn't schedule me within that ideal time frame, instead of making me wait another month just to end up in the same predicament??) I was told that I needed to start the pill no later than Monday night for it to work this cycle, and that I would need to get a pregnancy test and a blood pressure reading before they would prescribe it. So Monday, with just a couple hours before we needed to be on the road to the airport, I was at a CVS Minute Clinic peeing in a cup for a pregnancy test that was pointless in a same-sex relationship and then picking up a prescription for birth control.
Birth control. I haven't been on it since I was 22. I spent that New Year's of 2005/2006 in a hospital bed after having surgery for second degree burns on both my hands. I begged for a new round of birth control pills rather than starting the placebos so that I wouldn't have to get my period while my mother was tending to my every physical need. The hospital either wouldn't do this or didn't do it in time, or maybe I was too groggy to remember to follow up. I didn't bother taking the placebos while I was recovering and drugged up on pain medications, and I just never started back up with the pill.
I told my boyfriend of six years that I had been ambivalent about it for the past year, knowing that the risks get higher the longer you're on it (at 22 I'd been on it five years already, and the risks increase at ten). I'd also become much more natural-minded in general the past couple of years and didn't like the idea of messing with my body's natural rhythms. It hadn't sat right with me for many months, and I felt so good about coming off of it and restoring my body's natural processes. My boyfriend was a little upset, as he had never wanted to use condoms, and I told him he'd have to figure that out, that I was not putting my body through all this for the very rare sex we had while I was going to school in New York and he was still in South Carolina. I was tired of the burden and the effects all landing on me. It was an empowering decision, and for a long time I loved getting my period every month knowing it was a REAL period, knowing that I was likely ovulating as I should be.
And now at 30, in a same-sex relationship and wanting to conceive a child, I am going back on it. Oh the irony.
I shuddered as I took that first pill and just reminded myself of the end goal - not just a baby, but a family. Then today I remembered suddenly around 11:00 that I had to go take another. I panicked for a bit at the thought that I'd almost forgotten. And immediately hated that I was eager to suppress ovulation. It just feels so against what I want to be doing right now!
Then this afternoon I started feeling nauseous. I was thinking about how terrible it would be if I'm sick for this surgery, or even for the presurgical testing I have to go in for this Friday. Then as Nicole dished out dinner, the smell of the roasted potatoes made me feel nauseous even as my stomach rumbled with hunger. I was bewildered; how could I be well enough to be hungry but feel so turned off at the thought of food? That's when it hit me. I remembered that this is a side effect of the pill, and it kind of made me angry. I'm not feeling sick because a bug got me, and certainly not because something beautiful is happening inside my body. I'm feeling sick because I'm giving myself hormones and messing with my system. Ughhhhh.
To keep my spirits up, I just have to look forward. I have to picture that in a month I will be off this thing again, and that my body will be cleaned up and ready to grow life. I won't be discouraged. You're worth it.
Nicole said I never cry, so that's how she knew something was really wrong. Well, to be more accurate, I cry at the drop of a hat when it comes to emotional triggers, but am pretty stoic with physical pain and discomfort. Not that I don't feel it, I'm just used to handling it internally and am not so expressive about it. So when Nicole saw me crying and unmoving on the floor of the basement after she heard the thud, she told me I really should stay home and ice and elevate my foot. I protested, much as I did in 5th grade when I got hit in the head with a baseball bat and was devastated when my father showed up to take me home. Stoic, I tell you. Or maybe stubborn. But when I touched my foot in preparation to put on my rain boots, it was so tender that I winced, and I agreed to stay home. When it didn't get any better in the next hour or so, Nicole offered to come home from work and take me to urgent care, where x-rays revealed a clean and complete fracture of my fifth metatarsal. An orthopedist visit followed, where I was put in a boot and instructed not to go to work and to stay off my feet for at least two weeks, when I will come in for more x-rays and a re-evaluation.
My devastation was twofold. First, I worried that this might interfere with my ability to get surgery for yet another month, and I am just so done with dragging this out. However, many people have since told me that it should not be a barrier, as it would be mostly healed by then and I am not on any pain medication.
Second and more upsetting is that I have been working for years to accrue the maximum amount of paid leave I can have for maternity leave. We don't get any paid maternity leave, but can take up to six months off with our position guaranteed upon our return, so I want to take as much paid time as I can. This means having my annual vacation of five weeks, two vacation weeks I can roll over, my "sick bank" which is maxed out at five weeks, my regular accrued sick time which is maxed out at five weeks, and one week of emergency time. This comes to a grand total of 18 weeks paid. I have worked very hard to get to this. I have been a miser with how much vacation time I will take for any given event, making sure for the past two years that I keep two weeks to roll over, never knowing for sure which year will be "the year." I have been using my sick time very sparingly so that it has time to renew. And now I'm dipping into it for a stupid, preventable foot injury.
I know that I need to follow doctor's orders so that I heal properly and am not followed by this for the rest of my life. I know this. But if I have anything less than 18 paid weeks to take off with my new baby, I am going to be heartbroken. That's not much time as it is. If I could afford to, I would be taking off the first two or three years!
I started my period while in South Carolina this weekend visiting my family. I called the clinic Friday and attempted to schedule my surgery, which should happen between the eight and tenth day of my cycle. The eight day would be this Thursday, and the ninth would be Friday. The tenth would be unavailable because it's a weekend. So apparently my doctor felt that it was too risky to schedule for Thursday, that I might still be on my period since it lasts seven to eight days. So she scheduled me for the following Friday, December 27, and stated I would need to get on the birth control pill to prevent me from ovulating before then. (Why didn't she just do this last month when she couldn't schedule me within that ideal time frame, instead of making me wait another month just to end up in the same predicament??) I was told that I needed to start the pill no later than Monday night for it to work this cycle, and that I would need to get a pregnancy test and a blood pressure reading before they would prescribe it. So Monday, with just a couple hours before we needed to be on the road to the airport, I was at a CVS Minute Clinic peeing in a cup for a pregnancy test that was pointless in a same-sex relationship and then picking up a prescription for birth control.
Birth control. I haven't been on it since I was 22. I spent that New Year's of 2005/2006 in a hospital bed after having surgery for second degree burns on both my hands. I begged for a new round of birth control pills rather than starting the placebos so that I wouldn't have to get my period while my mother was tending to my every physical need. The hospital either wouldn't do this or didn't do it in time, or maybe I was too groggy to remember to follow up. I didn't bother taking the placebos while I was recovering and drugged up on pain medications, and I just never started back up with the pill.
I told my boyfriend of six years that I had been ambivalent about it for the past year, knowing that the risks get higher the longer you're on it (at 22 I'd been on it five years already, and the risks increase at ten). I'd also become much more natural-minded in general the past couple of years and didn't like the idea of messing with my body's natural rhythms. It hadn't sat right with me for many months, and I felt so good about coming off of it and restoring my body's natural processes. My boyfriend was a little upset, as he had never wanted to use condoms, and I told him he'd have to figure that out, that I was not putting my body through all this for the very rare sex we had while I was going to school in New York and he was still in South Carolina. I was tired of the burden and the effects all landing on me. It was an empowering decision, and for a long time I loved getting my period every month knowing it was a REAL period, knowing that I was likely ovulating as I should be.
And now at 30, in a same-sex relationship and wanting to conceive a child, I am going back on it. Oh the irony.
I shuddered as I took that first pill and just reminded myself of the end goal - not just a baby, but a family. Then today I remembered suddenly around 11:00 that I had to go take another. I panicked for a bit at the thought that I'd almost forgotten. And immediately hated that I was eager to suppress ovulation. It just feels so against what I want to be doing right now!
Then this afternoon I started feeling nauseous. I was thinking about how terrible it would be if I'm sick for this surgery, or even for the presurgical testing I have to go in for this Friday. Then as Nicole dished out dinner, the smell of the roasted potatoes made me feel nauseous even as my stomach rumbled with hunger. I was bewildered; how could I be well enough to be hungry but feel so turned off at the thought of food? That's when it hit me. I remembered that this is a side effect of the pill, and it kind of made me angry. I'm not feeling sick because a bug got me, and certainly not because something beautiful is happening inside my body. I'm feeling sick because I'm giving myself hormones and messing with my system. Ughhhhh.
To keep my spirits up, I just have to look forward. I have to picture that in a month I will be off this thing again, and that my body will be cleaned up and ready to grow life. I won't be discouraged. You're worth it.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Patiently Waiting
Last month I went to an appointment with my fertility doctor to discuss my surgery. This was how it was presented to me, that I should come in to discuss and plan the surgery now that my sonogram results were in. I expected it to just be a conversation. However, as soon as the doctor called me back, she told me to go ahead and empty my bladder so they could do one more transvaginal sonogram. I deflated. AGAIN? This would be my fourth time being invaded in stirrups in five or six weeks, and was it really necessary or were they just wanting a little something extra to bill my insurance company for? I asked what the reason was, and she said that she wanted to confirm the cyst was still there because it would be pointless to discuss and schedule surgery if not. I vividly recalled her saying on the phone that my cyst was 7cm and that anything over 5cm is not likely to just go away on its own. So I said, "Is that really a possibility? That it would have just disappeared in two weeks?" She said, "It's very unlikely, but stranger things have happened and we should just make sure before planning surgery." Okay...
She took several pictures and then we met in her office where she showed me the cyst in the photos. She said that because of its positioning, all you can see is black where the cyst is and you can't tell whether it's on the ovary or on the tube. I get that, but when she did the initial sonogram on October 11, she referred me to a radiologist for more extensive sonography precisely because she wanted to be able to determine this. So I'm not sure why that 20-minute tense exercise was necessary if it seemingly didn't give her any more clarity than she had from the initial one! I'd now had THREE transvaginal sonograms over the course of a month only to hear the same thing: "Yep, that's a big cyst, but it's hard to say what exactly it's on." I'm trying really hard to be patient and to remember that I'm not the expert here, that I'm not a medical professional, but I was already becoming a little disillusioned with the medical industry and it hadn't even been a month into our journey!
She then talked to me about the different possibilities of what could be going on in my body and what they would do in each scenario. She used a little model uterus that showed all kinds of fertility issues and pointed at it to help me understand. If the cyst is on my ovary, they will just remove it. If it's on my tube, they will remove it but will need to check out the tube. If my tube is engorged, they will remove it completely, or if there is scarring, they will just sever it. Basically if it is engorged, it is drawing fluid off the uterus (I assume this is all due to the cyst) and that would make a pregnancy difficult to "take." So the egg may be fertilized, but the embryo may not be able to attach or stay attached. She asked if I was okay with all of these scenarios and the plan, and I said yes. Honestly what it came down to is us starting a family. That's the bigger picture. Bigger even than pregnancy or a baby. I want family and this is the most direct and affordable route (within the fidelity of our marriage, anyway!) so I want optimal conditions for making that happen. I don't want to set myself up for disappointment and failure because the idea of having something REMOVED FROM MY BODY is freaking me out a little.
The surgery will be laparascopic, and they will do everything they can while they're in there to set me up for success. She will check me out for endometriosis and clean me out if that's an issue. She will put something in my uterus transvaginally (breaching the cervix?? *hyperventilates*) to check for polyps and remove those if they're in there. Basically she will do/check for anything that can only be done this way while she's in there to make maximum use of an invasive procedure. The recovery is about a week. I will probably feel fine before that, but my post-op exam will be in a week and I shouldn't go to work before that.
Now to schedule it. Scheduling has been a nightmare! Everything depends on where I am in my cycle which means a lot of patient waiting. It would be ideal to remove the cyst while I'm on my period (not sure why), but because they will be going into my uterus to look around too, they want me to be off my period. So she instructed me to call as soon as I got my next period and they would schedule it for eight to ten days after that. If she was booked up at that time and had to wait, say, three weeks, she would put me on the birth control pill to halt my cycle until she can get to me. I wasn't thrilled about that, but if that's the only way you can do something that requires such precise planning, I am keeping my eye on the prize and sucking up a lot.
So I waited for my period, which was due around November 20. I was hoping it would not come late because I am going to visit my family in South Carolina on December 12 and wanted the surgery and recovery to be behind me by then. If it cut it too close, I'd have to put it off for another cycle, and I'm just so eager to get this moving. I was thrilled to start my period on Saturday, November 16, and I waited anxiously until Monday morning to call and schedule. I was told the scheduler was out that day (no one can schedule surgery in her absence??) so I had to wait another day and called her on Tuesday. I was now on Day 4 already. She told me that the OR was booked next week because of Thanksgiving (I'm assuming she means it's understaffed that week so they can do fewer surgeries) so we should just wait until my next cycle.
My heart absolutely sank. I said, "What about the plan to put me on the pill til the doctor can get to me?" She said with great sympathy, "I know it's frustrating, but she doesn't want to do that if she can avoid it, so we should really just wait." I said, "Okay, but my next one would be due with a Day 8 or 10 landing Christmas week, so wouldn't the same problem arise?" She said, "No, I promise you we will book you." How can she promise that? If the doctor's schedule is full or the OR is full, what can she do about it? I really, really don't want to wait yet another month!!
I should be getting my next period right before I leave for SC, which would make Days 8 to 10 land right around when we get back. This is not ideal work-wise since I will just be coming back from vacation and it would mean my recovery would run into Christmas, which is a tough time for coverage at the office. But I am making it happen. We are actually seriously planning on aiming for February for our first attempt at conception, and we can't even plan that until this is taken care of. No, it won't be the end of the world if we have to push it off a month or two. But I have been aching for our child for two years now, and Nicole is really on board now which makes me want to leap!
One thing at a time, though. I waited every day to get my period in order to go for the first sonogram, then waited every day to get my next one to try to schedule the surgery, and now am waiting every day to try again! This is excruciating. I generally enjoy the torturous anticipation of a gift or vacation or special event - but we don't know what is on the other side of this yet, which makes the waiting less enjoyable! I just want to know what we're up against and get started.
Our hearts are ready to welcome you into our lives, little baby, but I have to make sure your nesting place is healthy and safe and ready to go. Soon!!!
She took several pictures and then we met in her office where she showed me the cyst in the photos. She said that because of its positioning, all you can see is black where the cyst is and you can't tell whether it's on the ovary or on the tube. I get that, but when she did the initial sonogram on October 11, she referred me to a radiologist for more extensive sonography precisely because she wanted to be able to determine this. So I'm not sure why that 20-minute tense exercise was necessary if it seemingly didn't give her any more clarity than she had from the initial one! I'd now had THREE transvaginal sonograms over the course of a month only to hear the same thing: "Yep, that's a big cyst, but it's hard to say what exactly it's on." I'm trying really hard to be patient and to remember that I'm not the expert here, that I'm not a medical professional, but I was already becoming a little disillusioned with the medical industry and it hadn't even been a month into our journey!
She then talked to me about the different possibilities of what could be going on in my body and what they would do in each scenario. She used a little model uterus that showed all kinds of fertility issues and pointed at it to help me understand. If the cyst is on my ovary, they will just remove it. If it's on my tube, they will remove it but will need to check out the tube. If my tube is engorged, they will remove it completely, or if there is scarring, they will just sever it. Basically if it is engorged, it is drawing fluid off the uterus (I assume this is all due to the cyst) and that would make a pregnancy difficult to "take." So the egg may be fertilized, but the embryo may not be able to attach or stay attached. She asked if I was okay with all of these scenarios and the plan, and I said yes. Honestly what it came down to is us starting a family. That's the bigger picture. Bigger even than pregnancy or a baby. I want family and this is the most direct and affordable route (within the fidelity of our marriage, anyway!) so I want optimal conditions for making that happen. I don't want to set myself up for disappointment and failure because the idea of having something REMOVED FROM MY BODY is freaking me out a little.
The surgery will be laparascopic, and they will do everything they can while they're in there to set me up for success. She will check me out for endometriosis and clean me out if that's an issue. She will put something in my uterus transvaginally (breaching the cervix?? *hyperventilates*) to check for polyps and remove those if they're in there. Basically she will do/check for anything that can only be done this way while she's in there to make maximum use of an invasive procedure. The recovery is about a week. I will probably feel fine before that, but my post-op exam will be in a week and I shouldn't go to work before that.
Now to schedule it. Scheduling has been a nightmare! Everything depends on where I am in my cycle which means a lot of patient waiting. It would be ideal to remove the cyst while I'm on my period (not sure why), but because they will be going into my uterus to look around too, they want me to be off my period. So she instructed me to call as soon as I got my next period and they would schedule it for eight to ten days after that. If she was booked up at that time and had to wait, say, three weeks, she would put me on the birth control pill to halt my cycle until she can get to me. I wasn't thrilled about that, but if that's the only way you can do something that requires such precise planning, I am keeping my eye on the prize and sucking up a lot.
So I waited for my period, which was due around November 20. I was hoping it would not come late because I am going to visit my family in South Carolina on December 12 and wanted the surgery and recovery to be behind me by then. If it cut it too close, I'd have to put it off for another cycle, and I'm just so eager to get this moving. I was thrilled to start my period on Saturday, November 16, and I waited anxiously until Monday morning to call and schedule. I was told the scheduler was out that day (no one can schedule surgery in her absence??) so I had to wait another day and called her on Tuesday. I was now on Day 4 already. She told me that the OR was booked next week because of Thanksgiving (I'm assuming she means it's understaffed that week so they can do fewer surgeries) so we should just wait until my next cycle.
My heart absolutely sank. I said, "What about the plan to put me on the pill til the doctor can get to me?" She said with great sympathy, "I know it's frustrating, but she doesn't want to do that if she can avoid it, so we should really just wait." I said, "Okay, but my next one would be due with a Day 8 or 10 landing Christmas week, so wouldn't the same problem arise?" She said, "No, I promise you we will book you." How can she promise that? If the doctor's schedule is full or the OR is full, what can she do about it? I really, really don't want to wait yet another month!!
I should be getting my next period right before I leave for SC, which would make Days 8 to 10 land right around when we get back. This is not ideal work-wise since I will just be coming back from vacation and it would mean my recovery would run into Christmas, which is a tough time for coverage at the office. But I am making it happen. We are actually seriously planning on aiming for February for our first attempt at conception, and we can't even plan that until this is taken care of. No, it won't be the end of the world if we have to push it off a month or two. But I have been aching for our child for two years now, and Nicole is really on board now which makes me want to leap!
One thing at a time, though. I waited every day to get my period in order to go for the first sonogram, then waited every day to get my next one to try to schedule the surgery, and now am waiting every day to try again! This is excruciating. I generally enjoy the torturous anticipation of a gift or vacation or special event - but we don't know what is on the other side of this yet, which makes the waiting less enjoyable! I just want to know what we're up against and get started.
Our hearts are ready to welcome you into our lives, little baby, but I have to make sure your nesting place is healthy and safe and ready to go. Soon!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)