Sunday marked exactly 6 months since my myomectomy. I have mentioned it in many other posts, but I haven’t written about it. As of last month I was officially cleared as fully recovered and healthy. I first found out I had uterine fibroids back in college. They have never really bothered me much. Fibroids are apparently common and a lot of women have them and they are unaware. The day after I turned 27 (last June) I went to the doctor. I had been having awful pain for nearly 6 months but I ignored it because I was too busy. Or at least that is what I kept telling myself. Crazy, I know, but we all do it. I went to the doctor for what I thought was tail bone pain or lower back pain. Little did I know, it was much more than that. The doctor gave me my first of many prescriptions and gave me a referral to get x-rays. I waited over a week to get the x-rays done thinking nothing would come of it anyway. A few days later I got a call from the nurse and she told me that I needed to make an appointment to see my OB/GYN as soon as possible. My x-ray showed a massive growth near my uterus. I was distraught to say the least. I called my husband in tears. He was on his way home for lunch. He hugged me for most of his break and told me not worry because we didn’t know anything yet. But I did. I had already prepared for this new though. After finding out from doctor #1 that I had a fibroid growth I flashed back to one of my last doctor;s appointments before I had PAC Man. The doctor I saw this particular day told me that my fibroid had gotten significantly larger during my pregnancy and if it didn’t go away after birth, I may need to have surgery if it caused any problems. I guess he was right.
My appointment with my OB/GYN (doctor #2) was brief and afterwards I felt a bit slighted. I hadn’t seen her since my post birth 6 week check-up which had been well over a year ago. She recommended another doctor because of the contract negotiations going on between my insurance company and the hospital where she performed surgical procedures. Wait, did I miss something? Surgery. I need surgery. As she looked at my chart and finished up, I nodded quietly because it took all of my strength to hold back my tears. I got dressed and proceeded to text D. A new doctor and more appointments would be my focus for the next few weeks. All while working and trying to find a new family to work with after my surgery. Basically, I had a lot on my plate and no fork. My first appointment with doctor #3 aka my surgeon was at the end of July. She knew my chart and instantly recommended removing the fibroid. I was surprised to learn that surgery was not the only option. She took the time to explain all my choices, every possible outcome and all the risks associated with each one. Surgery was the way to go. And with robotic surgery, I could cut my recovery time way down. That was important because D could only take so many days off from work and I would be at home alone with PAC Man. I was very pleased with my first pre-op appointment and I was even more pleased with my surgeon.
The day I received the call from the hospital about scheduling my surgery finally came. I was unaware that my surgeon only performed surgery on Mondays so I had to wait over a month before I could have my surgery. In hindsight, this was great because Monday is the best (and saffest) day to get surgery. The next six weeks would prove to be very difficult as I was on several different medications and they all put me in a daze. Or put me to sleep. One particular medication was so strong, I could take it before bed, wake up and not remember anything from the night before. I stopped taking that prescription right away. As I’m typing, I am looking at the medicine cabinet next to my bed aka my night stand. I’m convinced if I didn’t have insurance, Target would have made a fortune off of me. But even with all of the medications, I was in excruciating pain. Remember, I originally went to the doctor for what I thought was tail bone or coccyx pain. Sitting down was my least favorite thing to do. After working with children and being on my feet all day, I just want to sit down. But it hurt like hell. It still hurts like hell (I’ll get to that later). So I was in pain. All the time. Trying to keep living my life as normal as possible until September 17th.
I was a mess. I cried when my husband was at work and when PAC Man napped. I was nervous and anxious. Worried and stressed. In constant pain. I couldn’t run anymore because of it. But I had a great support system in place and that is one thing I couldn’t complain about. They would get me through the next few weeks and through my recovery. They would be a huge part of my healing. Eight months of pain and I was finally going to have my body and life back. I remember the night before the surgery, I ate like I was going to the electric chair! And yes, chocolate cake was had! My husband and I talked and laughed well after 1 a.m. He just held me and kept giving me forehead kisses until I drifted off to sleep. My recovery would be hard, but D made it so easy. He truly is my best friend. He was my biggest advocate on surgery day. And what a day it turned out to be. I’ll have to dedicate another post for the day of my surgery.
Read Part II (the day of my surgery) here.