That’s just about the only thing I didn’t address yesterday. Healthy, I would say, however there are periods of time when it is the absolute last thing on my mind (can you believe that?). There are other times when it is absolutely the only thing on my mind. And having chosen celibacy over trauma, I have deleted the offending men from my life. Some don’t understand.
I definitely have things I won’t do any more. I have things I want/need more than ever. It will be a while before I let anyone in down there. I know you think I’m crazy, but believe me — I am better off with myself right now.
This surgery has opened my life…. given me the thrust, the major shift I saw previously only from a distance. And I love it. Sure, the apartment I live in is what many would call a hell hole. But there are some nice people here. I’m here! It’s not forever. What, after all, is forever?
Ok. Feeling quite ill right now. Not sure of the actual reason, but I’m at home right now.
I am alive today, and more able to cope with my issues now that I have allowed Doc Seaver to remove the offending uterine fibroid and all that entails. It was one year ago today that my son Sam woke up on my living room sofa, having stayed overnight so that I didn’t have to go to his place and pick him up at 5 in the morning on surgery day. We both begrudgingly arose near 5am. I took my last shower for a couple of days. Then we left to pick up Carl who was going to be in charge of the car for the next two weeks as I had been ordered not to drive at all. What better way to keep oneself from behind the wheel than let a friend borrow the vehicle. Heck, I didn’t even want to go outside for the first few days, let alone go zooming off in my little Honda Civic Hybrid, circa 2002.
So ok… we arrive at the hospital around 5:30am. I check in, having already paid my portion of the cost of the surgery the week prior — a whopping $250. Then we waited. Turned over my health care directive copies to the youngster taking the information — surely he’s a junior high school volunteer. But no. He is a seasoned intake expert. Oh well. So much for my powers of age determination.
I was called. It was my turn to go upstairs into the pre-op room. There was a large door on the second floor, beyond which neither friends nor family were allowed to go. It was at that point that I abandoned Carl and Sam, with a slight choking in my throat, knowing that the next time I saw either of them, I would be….. dum dum duuuuuummmm….. minus some of my internal organs that had been with me since birth. Of course, all this is in retrospect, you must realize. At that moment of parting, all I could think about was whether brushing my teeth that morning would mean that the surgery would have to be called off due to patient imbibing too much liquid prior to surgery. Come on, Peg, get with the program!
I was hustled to the pre-op area… maybe 20 empty beds awaiting patients who would eventually be awaiting surgeries of all sorts. This was a co-ed pre-op room. This is where I changed from my real clothing into my hospital gown, where I put on those oh so warm little socklets, where I donned my lovely hair covering, and where I would within an hour be poked and prodded by literally every man, woman, surgeon, nurse, anaesthesiologist, candy striper, and resident they could find. I think there was a social worker there to ask if someone would be in the waiting room when I emerged from surgery and was put into the recovery room — which had a strange resemblance to the pre-op room. Still not quite sure if those rooms were one and the same.
After the poking and prodding, I rested, thinking of all the people who were thinking of me right then, and who had generously sent me good thoughts upon my asking. I do remember that I was neatened up, and my surgeon and gynecologist (one and the same) came in to be sure I was ok. He was wearing a cap made of a black and white cow fabric. That was funny. Until he turned to leave for the OR and I saw that his long white coat had an actual cow on the back…. or did I dream that? Now THAT was funny.
Not long after the doc’s departure, I was wheeled into the OR — seemed to be just down the hall and around the corner… but how can you tell when all you can see is the ceiling. If you’ve seen one hospital ceiling, you’ve seen them all. So they push me through the doors in to what looked like a stainless steel lined room, with all in the room made of stainless steel except for the medical staff. My doc had a resident assisting him. She was the only other doctor. I know there was at least one nurse, one anaesthesiologist, and maybe one other person.
Then the weird stuff happened.
As I said, I had solicited the support of friends and family for healing thoughts before, during and after the surgery. As the rolling bed stopped, and I was transferred to the waiting stationary surgery table, I felt and saw a large basket form under the table and extend above me, nearly encompassing the table. I could see small people who were apparently the representatives of all who were with me on that morning. It was fascinating. Like a basket full of people sending out love and healing thoughts. It was grand. I hadn’t even had the best of the drugs yet! It made me close my eyes, and sink into a dream as the drug doc said, “I’m going to give……..” That’s all I heard. I was out.
The next thing I remember was having a difficult time waking up in the recovery room. I saw my son, my mom…. when I first opened my eyes. Lovely sight, I thought. I continued in my groggy state for a while, and after realizing I had a catheter inside me (I missed all that cause I conked out so soon in the OR) and a big bandaid outside me, and also becoming cognizant of the time — by then about 11:30am — I had gone into surgery about 7:30am and stayed in there for a couple of hours… I was once again wheeled out on the rolling bed, and taken upstairs (elevator) to the 4th floor where I sank into a sleep that lasted until after 3pm. My family was still there. They left soon after, wishing for me to rest comfortably. They would be back the following day.
After a bit, Carl returned to do his part in the healing process. Before he could get to that, another friend, Joe came by ostensibly to see if I was still alive. That’s what he said. He joined Carl in the little ceremony, while each held one of my hands. I felt so much love and healing go through me in those few moments. The only other time I had experienced such an effect was each time I met a surgeon in England. The electricity was amazing. Shot through me like one of my fingers had been lit and had turned into a 4th of July sparkler that extended through my entire body! I wonder if it was visible to anyone else?
Annoying things:
those leg massaging things irritated me
I didn’t realize when I was peeing
the plastic on the bed under the sheets — icky icky icky
the plastic on the pillow under the pillowcase
the lady next to me who had neck surgery the same day — vertebral discs fused — moaned and screamed all day and night, but got ok when a friend came by to watch Dancing with the Stars
and the worst thing of all…..
the smell of toast in the morning when I couldn’t eat anything. minor torture.
So there I am installed in the bed between the moaning woman and a dying woman… inoperable cancer. My friend Julie came by after work and brought me a nice plant, and cousin Mel brought me a book. Someone else had a lovely orchid delivered by florist. Couldn’t concentrate on knitting, reading or writing. So I slept. I had little if any pain, and refused the heavy pain killers, wanting to know just how much pain there was. Hardly any, really. I was astounded. Thought I would hurt from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Just wasn’t on.
The second day, I was allowed to get up and walk a bit, but got woozy just a few short steps down the hall. Later that afternoon, the catheter popped out, and they said it was time for me to hit the toilet. I did love that moment when they said I could travel alone to the toilet that was about 10 baby steps from my bed. Oh what relief when I sat down. But what was that plop I heard, and what was that stuff that just shot out of my privates? It was just the remains of what was left after the surgery. Normal, I find out after panicking that it might be the beginning of my intestines attempting to leave my body.
That, my friends, was the last time I ever had a dot of blood coming out of that orifice. Why did I wait? I thought sincerely that I could be “cured” by alternative medicine modalities. I tried many. The uterine fibroid started to shrink a bit after some acupuncture treatments. But it was not until Dr. Seaver said to me that the only real treatment, the only way to have them stop getting smaller and larger and all that was to surgically remove what was now the size of a bowling ball. A BOWLING BALL?!?! Well it was a basketball the last time anyone checked.
Out with the offending bastards! I’ll not have them inside me one more moment. I did have to wait until one year ago today for the surgery, a mere couple of months after I made the decision to have a total abdominal hysterectomy…. bikini incision and scar — hahahahaha I said to the doctor. I have never worn a bikini, and most likely never will. Ha. And funny thing is, one side of the scar is slightly firmer than the other. I told him that the firm side was most likely his resident’s work. He laughed.
After effects, physically? Still some numbness above the scar line. Below, full feeling back. Pubic hair grew back in an odd pattern. Probably because I’m kinda old. Still get a twinge once in a while around the scar place. A lot of twinges soon after the surgery. But then, I stopped taking pain meds a couple of days after I got home — never took the codeine, just tylenol. Tell anyone who is going to drive you home, or around any time before your first two weeks are up, please take the corners slowly. That nearly did me in on the way home. My friend was anxious about driving me, and took too many corners quickly, and didn’t let up when I pleaded with him to take extra care. It was ok to take a shower (yay!) almost immediately, just wasn’t allowed to scrub the incision. He said that the tape holding the skin together would fall off eventually. Yes, just held together with tape. Sewing was all on the inside, with a few external dissolving stitches. He did have to snip close to the edge when I went back for my 6 week checkup. The end of one of the stitches was sticking out a fraction of an inch but we could both feel it like it was a nail! That little snip of the dissolving thread did the trick.
I walked outside after a couple of days…. walked inside the house from the first day, but felt much better prone on the bed. After a couple of days, took the two back stairs and walked half way around to the front yard. My son did stay with me for two nights, but decided he liked his bed much better than my couch. He even cooked me something one of those days. I think it was the long-awaited toast that I had so longed for in the hospital! It took me nearly a week to make it to the front yard to get the mail. Luckily, someone stopped by each day to check on me, and to bring in the mail. The greatest feat of all was the day I finally made it to the mail box and brought in the mail myself. Then I walked up and down the driveway, not wanting to get too far away from home and finding myself unable to get back without a struggle.
It sounds drastic. It was.
Found out there were two or more fibroids. I asked where they were. I wanted a photo for evidence. Doc said that there were two softball sized blobs, that he cut apart before removing them, so that he could keep the incision as small as possible. Still, it is about 7″ side to side.
BEST POSSIBLE CHANGE?
Hey, no freaking bleeding for one entire year. That plop of crap in the toilet? The last sign.
DOCTOR AND RESIDENT’S RECOMMENDATIONS:
Don’t put anything into your vagina for at least 6 weeks. Hey doc, don’t worry. I’ll do anything you tell me. I’m your pawn. You performed yet another miracle. I’m a believer!
Changes in my life since the surgery — personal ones:
My mom died
My friend died
My aunt died
I moved to another living space
I made the decision to move out of Sacramento before September 1, 2010
I love going down the feminine hygiene aisle in the store without having to go ugh when I see the price and pick up several packets so as not to have to return, or perish the thought, run out! I still use a lot of toilet paper, but I love toilet paper. I also love to iron. Go figure!
So where am I today? Still love my gynecologist, Mark Seaver, M.D. for giving me the low down on uterine fibroids and the fact that ripping me open and jerking them out was the only real way to deal with them! Thank you Dr. Seaver. And most of all……. I will never be able to thank my friends and family enough for helping me create that wonderful basket of love and healing that was there in the operating room with us. I truly believe that all those thoughts helped me heal as quickly as I did.
If you are contemplating this surgery, wait no longer. It is quite difficult to remember just how uncomfortable I was during the couple of years before the surgery. I remember being afraid of the massive flows of blood I used to experience, just walking the short distance between my workspace and the restroom at work. I couldn’t go anywhere very spontaneously, and had to plan ahead when I did go somewhere. A chore. A real chore.
Remember, it is your choice. You do not have to wait. You do not have to endure. You do not have to have blood all over yourself just to be convinced something has to be done. You will no longer have to wear black trousers or skirt unless you want to wear that color!
Please, ask your gynecologist. I loved my gyn also being a surgeon. Felt so comfy with him in the room with me…. especially with the cow hat. Dr. Seaver practices in the women’s clinic at Kaiser Sacramento in the Fair Oaks Boulevard office. I wrote a YELP review on him!
Enough from me. I would love to hear from any of you who are making the decision right now, or who have just had surgery. Bravely ask for help from your friends. Even from a distance. It works.
Man, I had to fight with myself to go to work today…. then when I got there, had to fight with myself to get me to stay! So much I want to do on the new fabric piece. It’s based on a labyrinth I found online on some guy’s back. When I blew it up to the size I wanted, I had to obliterate all his lower back blemishes. I do love it, and when finished, will send him a photo or two. I’m using chartreuse silk behind a very vibrant cotton print. Originally conceived as a reverse applique, I have calmed down, and realize now that if I do my usual neat, very neat applique that I will be stitching for eons. Then, I would have had to go around many, many twists and turns with beads following the shape. Beads only, my dears. I will, in a moment, start on the clay pieces that I came up with last night. Clay pieces that will adorn the entrance to the labyrinth and also hang from the bottom of the hanging. So here I go. Funnily enough, I have never combined my own claywork with my fabric work. Can’t wait.
Well, dears, it’s been two months and one day since my mom passed into the ethers. I made the realization as I was thinking about the date on the way to work yesterday. I’m not sure if I like these Friday morning realizations or not! I could barely see the road for the tears that exploded out of the ducts. It lasted about three minutes. Then I looked around as if I had experienced an odd dream, walked in through the main door at work, and forgot about it until later in the day.
Emotions are not foreign to me, having suffered what the counselors refer to as ’several traumas’ in the past two months, then several more life changing events when you go back another two years. Menopause (or perimenopause) was not a fun time, either. I did some interesting art during those times. People who see my pottery seem amazed at the variety of creations. The fabric seems to be getting bolder, with the meaning (their interpretations) getting deeper and more difficult to dredge out of the fabric and embellishments.
I’ve finished the little art show and sale at work, and can now get down to the labyrinth based fabric piece that is coming next. The orange and gold will wait it’s turn. I can now devote time and the table to the fabric again. I am rather intrigued with this one. Really.
Massage this morning at 10, so I’ll work on fabric when I get back. Either that or I will come home, drink water and take a nap.
Can you see my mind whirring? I do need another good chair for the studio, since I took the computer chair into the living room to work on things. This room I am in currently may evolve into a computer/ storage of art related items rather than an actual studio. One positive thing about living alone is that you can keep your creative mess out all of the time, and come back to it exactly as it was when you left it. I don’t know how people get anything done when they have to constantly put away their stuff and take it out each time they work on it. It’s lovely just to have it there to do whenever you like.
I am not going into exactly what happened in the last week. That’s why I haven’t written here for 8 days.
Oddly enough, I may have come back to my senses…….. the place where I know where I’m going, know with whom I’m going (myself), when I will go, and few other choice fill-in-the-blank dealiewhoppers. If I lose it again, please shake me and wake me, so that I don’t dig myself a ditch and fill it in with earth, never to be seen again.
Sequim will be there when I get ready. The area will still need an oboe player. The people in the fabric store and the lavender lady will be welcoming.
It is my home already. Let me be a visitor for a short time, and a long-time resident. Please. It will start with my residency at Centrum in November. Sweet.
I do hate to whinge continually in this space. Not only that, I do also dislike people who try to make me the ultimate town fool as their only defense mechanism. Truly, my dears, I am not a clown, nor am I a fool. Seriousness is the word of the day every day until I get home. I do not take kindly to being raked over the coals for asking simple questions, requesting the bare minimum of assistance.
Whinge over. Guess what’s in the brain… eh… whaddya think?
yes, indeed. It’s there for all to see, for I do show headaches in my facial expression.
My aunt Joan passed from this world today. I’ll say no more, except that she was lucid to the end, and died smiling eventhough she was in incredible pain. All of her family who was able visited her at her bedside.
I have just had an update email on the status of the health of my aunt — my mom’s brother’s wife. I won’t say much, except that she is dying. A rapid progressing cancer causing blockage of those tubes between the kidneys and liver.
She has, as of yesterday, had 24 hour nursing care — crisis care, I think they called it. The family has had a few hours sleep since last night. They all know it’s going to be soon. She and my uncle just moved to Texas to be with their eldest daughter and her family…. well, my cousin moved her parents to help them since my uncle is also in ill health and suffers from dementia. He told my cousin that he needed to take a train back to this area, because the company for which he used to work has a job for him. He had talked it over with his wife, and it was ok with her. This man is in his 80s somewhere, is blind, nearly totally deaf — and it goes on.
It saddens me to know that so many people experience these times. I know that I have taken from it so much I can hardly believe the decisions and actions I’ve taken since the deaths of those near and dear to me.
Right now, I must do some laundry, as I am wearing my last pair of clean undies. You know that’s my judge of when to do laundry. Cutting it a bit close today, though. Found a stack of towels that I had put on the “missing in action” list. Those will get a good laundering. Of course, as you know, I no longer have a washer and dryer at home. Have to go out to the apartment complex laundry.
Going now. Be back. There are good things coming in the not too distant future. Stay tuned.
Finally started listening to Wayne Dyer’s Excuses Begone! a couple of days ago. Way too much information to process in one hearing. What I did absorb in the first 15 minutes or so, has caused me to wake up freakishly early on a day off (yes, I have a four day weekend), and start putting things where they should be…. and to establish places for things that do not yet have a place. So, I’ve put away the dishes from the dishwasher, started filling it up again, clear out all the mess from the bedroom closet (found my missing towels!), finished watching the last 1/3 of “If It’s Tuesday It Must Be Belgium.” What an innocent film.
It’s an all star cast of youngsters — Ian McShane, yummy as the tour guide (did I say yummy?), and Suzanne Pleshette as the lovely love interest. Masses of cameos you might not recognize until the credits. I even recognized Donovan playing guitar and singing in a youth hostel!
Ok. So it’s back to the kitchen — want to get it cleaned up so that they can come in a change the vinyl. Oh yes, jj, I did check into marmoleum… which was not lino smeared with marmite at all. My son informed me that it was a mixture of orange marmalade and linoleum. See, we’re not all goofy here in the states.
Now you go watch the Ian McShane movie, dears, while I work my fingers to the…… oh why bother. No one had sympathy today!
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