I'm going through a really difficult breakup right now, and it has nothing to do with my husband, or my car insurance company.
It's... well... my uterus. And she's not taking it well... (this is a bit foreign to me, because there are certain subjects I stay away from in conversations and in blog posts; my girly bits being one of them)
In my last post, I briefly mentioned a biopsy and an outpatient surgery that I had, with aforementioned surgery happening the day before Emma's scary probably-seizures. Still haven't heard from the pediatric neurologist as to whether or not they'll see her, so I guess it's time to start making some phone calls. Anyways, here's the full (ish) story. Sans some details. And definitely sans the gory details.
I took a week off of work after my surgery on 4/24. Only a handful of people in my office know what's been going on, because it's something I didn't really want everyone knowing about. When I came back to work, the amazing girls on my team surprised me with flowers, a card, a little trinket for my desk, and some balloons. A bunch of people asked what happened since they thought I was just on vacation or something (hah! Vacation? What's that?!), so I jokingly pointed to my bruised-up arms from the failed attempts at an IV line and told them that I was on a week-long drug binge. Then I laughed and told them I was OK and that was the end of it. A few people asked what I had surgery on, and I would deflect or tell them I didn't want to talk about it. I should have told them I had a boob job. That would have been both hilarious and awkward at the same time...
The real story isn't so great. Actually, it's downright awful- I had a little more than half of my cervix removed, or for accuracy's sake- burned out. My cervix and I have had a terrible relationship for a few years, mostly since I was diagnosed with endometriosis in 2009. My cervix hurts more often than I'd like... then it decided to give out 28 weeks into my pregnancy with Emma so, yea... I'm not really a big fan of that particular part of my anatomy. When the doctor discussed the procedure with me during my pre-op appointment, she mentioned an increased risk for pre-term birth. Ahem, been there, done that. Anything that increases that risk for me is pretty much rendering me sterile. But no worries- we already knew we weren't going to have any more children and I had already grieved that loss and put it to rest. I assured the doctor that we weren't having any more children, but I don't think she believed me. Anyways, the procedure went well and I felt much better than I thought I would after having an enormous chunk of my cervix burned out of me. I was scheduled for my post-op/pathology results 8 days after my surgery. The night before, I started bleeding, which I heard was no big deal. Coincidentally, the bleeding started after I sneezed (UGH!) and then my cervix started to hurt like hell. Like, writhing in pain on the bed and gripping the sheets kind of pain. I popped a Percocet and hunkered down for the night.
I was dreading being examined at my post-op appointment, but ready to put this whole ordeal behind me. Nope. The doctor started with "I have some bad news, but it's not that bad." Really?! That was the second time I heard something along the "not that bad" lines and I wasn't buying it. At least I didn't have to endure an exam. What I was told was this: Basically, when they do a cone biopsy (in my case it was a LEEP cone, because the doctor used the LEEP tool which burns out the section being removed instead of cutting it with a scalpel, which just sounds so lovely) they want to make sure they cut out a little beyond where they think the bad cells are so that they know they get it all. If that's successful, then the margins of the tissue should be negative. Mine were positive on more than half of the margins. So the cancerous cells had pretty much covered my entire cervix. My doctor told me she had already consulted with an oncologist, who suggested that we wait 6-8 weeks for me to heal, and then do another cone biopsy, which would leave me with very little remaining cervix.
My head was spinning. I was NOT expecting that at all. Actually, I thought there was a chance I could have positive margins, but when she told me that my margins were positive INSIDE the cervical canal, I was blown away. My original biopsy showed no abnormal cells in the cervical canal, and this biopsy showed cancer cells there. This situation was far worse than I originally thought. My doctor said she told the oncologist that she figured I'd want to be extra cautious and take a more aggressive approach, and the oncologist suggested the re-cone. She said she was confident that the next procedure would "cure" the problem, but she also couldn't rule out that the cancer cells had become invasive. If they had, then we would start talking lymph node removals and a more involved surgery. Holy whoa. Hearing the words "cancer" and "oncologist" come from my doctor's mouth horrified me.
I kept my composure until I got to my car. I called hubby, broke down into tears, and told him what the doctor said. Since his office is only a few miles from the doctor, I asked to see him. Then I called my boss to ask for the rest of the day off, and drove to see hubby. We met in the parking lot and he embraced me. It was a gloomy, cloudy, rainy day. So appropriate.
Once I collected my thoughts, I sprang into action. I knew my doctor said she'd already consulted with an oncologist who developed my treatment plan, but I wanted to speak with an oncologist myself. So I called one, and got the ball rolling on that. I got my insurance stuff straightened out, submitted my claims to AFLAC, and faxed a million documents.
Fast forward to 5/12, about 2 1/2 weeks after my surgery. I worked really late that night, and started to feel a little run-down and like the bleeding was getting worse. I woke up at 4:30am the next morning because I was on-call and my work phone rang. Because, you know, there's never a great time to be on-call, but it will almost always happen at the worst time imaginable. I realized at that point that my bleeding was still getting worse. By 7:30, I knew something was wrong. I left a message for the doctor, and because my father passed along his work ethic to me, I drove myself to work for my back-to-back meetings. It was a terrible idea. I cannot describe the feeling of sitting in a room full of people of higher rank than you while you are losing an insane amount of blood. I just kept praying that it didn't become obvious. I called the doctor back and asked to speak with someone, and was scheduled for an appointment at 11:30am. I went back to my meeting until 11 (really, where's my employee-of-the-century award?!), then flew out the door.
This is where I spare you the gory details. But I'll say this- the doctor (not my usual doctor) looked at me and said "wow, that is a LOT of blood." And it was. A lot. Of blood. The next 20 minutes were incredibly traumatizing and I felt like I was going to faint, but the doctor patched me up and told me to lie in bed for the rest of the day. They tested my hemoglobin level to be sure I hadn't lost too much blood. Turns out, I was borderline anemic from it. They sent me home with what looked like their entire stock of iron pill samples. I was so glad that was over. (on a side note, I don't really mind talking about the details, but seeing how most people are incredibly grossed out by blood, I decided to leave all of that out. You are welcome.)
The next day was my appointment with the oncologist at Moffitt Cancer Center. The facility is located on the campus where I attended college, so I had driven past the building too many times to count, never realizing that I'd one day be a patient there. I also didn't realize the powerful swirling of emotions I felt when I walked up to the building and saw people with chemo ports, IV poles, face masks, and scarves on their heads. The energy in that place was undeniable... I was surrounded by people determined to beat the illnesses that had taken over their lives. There was also a sense of sadness, and like no one wanted to be there. I certainly didn't. But it was a busy, bustling place and about as upbeat as you could ever imagine a cancer center being.
Hubby and I had already discussed in great length that the best choice was to ask for a hysterectomy so I could finally put all of my issues behind me. We decided that another cone biopsy would render me unable to carry a pregnancy anyways, and having me around to be Emma's mother was far more important than the possibility of ever having another child in the future. If I were to have another re-cone, I'd have to have a pap test and cervical canal scraping (OMG so painful) every three months for years, because I'd be so high risk of developing this all over again. If any of those tests came back abnormal, I'd be looking at a hysterectomy anyways. I was expecting to have to do a full sales pitch, and was completely open to getting down on my knees and begging the doctor to agree to a hysterectomy. So when she agreed right away, I breathed a sigh of relief. The end was in sight. She scheduled me for a total laparoscopic hysterectomy and salpingectomy for 6/17- three days before my birthday. Whatever. There's always next year for birthday fun. I signed some consents for the procedure, and also consented to allowing the facility to use any blood samples and tissue samples collected by my doctor during the course of treatment for cancer research. So... I'm giving them my whole damn womb to slice and dice in the name of research.
We ended up spending the majority of the day at the cancer center, because I had to have pre-op blood work done. A power surge knocked out the computer systems and so my appointment ended up starting REALLY late. We were starving, so they scheduled my lab appointment late enough that we had time to grab a bite to eat. And- surprise! I was bleeding. Again.
Hubby put my feelings into words that afternoon- that we were so fortunate to be walking out of a cancer center feeling relieved and happy, when so many don't get to leave on those terms. We caught this soon enough, and an end is in sight. I felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. I was going to be ok, and this wasn't going to consume my life forever.
The next day, I went to work, feeling like it was any normal day. I figured I was on my period and that my uterus was clearly super pissed that I had served her with an eviction notice. So in an act of revenge, she decided to torture me one last time.
Oh, how wrong I was. That night, the gushes of blood returned. It was undeniable- I was hemorrhaging AGAIN. Off to the emergency room I went, for another round of horribly traumatic treatment and plugging of the leak. I went around 9 or 10pm, and was finally ready to go at 2am. I was exhausted, partly from lack of sleep, partly from being traumatized, and partly from blood loss. Another hemoglobin test confirmed that I was now officially anemic. Oh joy.
I made the mistake of going to the nearest ER instead of going to the hospital where I had my surgery. If I had gone there, the on-call doctor from my doctor's office would have been able to see me and probably would have surgically corrected the leaky blood vessel instead of just using a clotting solution and applying pressure until the bleeding stopped. Dangit. So the next morning (Friday), I called the doctor and the oncologist. After much confusion on who was supposed to do what, the oncologist called my doctor and told them that they HAD to see me in their office that day (after my doctor's office told me they didn't have any availability and that I should just have the oncologist look at it). I went to the doctor that afternoon, and was traumatized for the third time that week. Again, intentional withholding of details. But it involved much crying, whimpering, deep breathing, and squeezing hubby's hands so hard that I thought I may have hurt him at one point. Good thing he has big man-hands. That pain made my initial biopsy seem like a walk in the park. The doctor had intended on cauterizing the blood vessel that was causing the problems, but it was not possible. So they sent me home, put me on bed rest for a week and a half, and told me that if I started hemorrhaging again, I'd need to go to a specific hospital. The doctor who had taken care of me earlier in the week was on-call and was up-to-speed on my situation in case I went to the ER. They even prepped the next on-call doctor on my case. Which didn't give me a lot of confidence that this was the last time I'd be dealing with this. *sigh*
So, I made it through the weekend. Today is Sunday, and while I sprang a leak again yesterday, it has remained slow and I'm just praying that it plugs itself. I'm calling the oncologist tomorrow to see if they need to push back my surgery date to allow me more time to heal, or if they can just move it up so I can just be done with this. No point in having my blood vessel surgically cauterized if they can just take the whole damn thing out, amiright?
This also finally gives me a great response to the frequently asked question of "so when are you having another baby?" My response to date has ranged from "oh, I don't know" (for strangers) to "we went through so much with Emma that we don't want to run the risk of going through all of that again and seeing another baby suffer" (for people I know well). People would argue that, saying that it's not that big of a deal and another baby would be such a great thing. Now my response will have no rebuttal: "I donated my uterus to cancer research." Bam. End of conversation.
Oh yea, and on top of all that, the dog had surgery, Emma may be having seizures, our sprinklers are leaking and jacked up our water bill like crazy, hubby's car needed to be repaired, and the dryer is probably broken. I am not even going to get into the incredible stress I've been dealing with at work. When it rains, it pours.
So there you have it. I am having a hysterectomy 3 days before my 28th birthday. I am ok, and I will be ok. A huge thanks to all of those who have supported me over the last two months. It means so much to me :)
