My Fibroid Story Part II

This is a brief "Part ll" with details the day of my myomectomy. Art by Krissy Diggs

Today marks 8 years since my myomectomy (fibroid removal). Today serves as a reminder of all that my body has endured. My husband and I still refer to it as "the longest day" because my 4 hour outpatient surgery did not go as planned. I/we (my husband too) encountered medical racism from several nurses & staff members who wouldn't update my husband on where I was, how my surgery was going/went, why it took longer than the planned four hours and more as he tried to keep our 18 month old son busy while seeking answers. I was in recovery for hours before he knew I was fine. I remember one male nurse telling me he was going to give me something for pain (he never even asked how I felt post-op) and putting something in my IV and then I passed out. It would be another two hours before I saw my husband and son.

I vividly remember talking to my surgeon post-op and she signed off on my release. But once she left my room and the shift change occurred for nurses, I knew I was in trouble (we had been at the hospital for over 12 hours at this point). I was forced to stay at the hospital by nurses who claimed I needed "extra monitoring". I even signed papers to go home for "refusal of care" just so I could get the hell out of there. And when they wouldn't let me eat, I was done. Special thank you to my husband for advocating for me and my bestie Patrice for coming to pick up my son at some point that day.

Due to me "refusing care" I was sent home without medication. I was told that the hospital's pharmacy was closed to discharged patients (WTF) and I needed to go across the street to the CVS to get my pain meds. It was after midnight and although the CVS was open, they didn't have the meds to fill my prescription. I went home tired, hungry, irritated, angry and in pain. My sweet husband got me home and as comfortable as possible before getting up at sunrise to go get my meds for me. Longest. Day. Ever.

I am still reeling and unpacking some things from that day. I wrote a blog that outlined this day in detail, but it disappeared when I published it and I haven't had the energy to write it again (hints this brief account). This experience has left me NEVER wanting to go under the knife for any reason again. And the irony is that if I have another kid, I would have to have a c-section because of this surgery. Not to mention that the scar tissue from this surgery may have been the initial cause of my endometriosis, which could again lead to surgery.

I'm focused on self healing through herbs and whole foods. But I feel for all the womxn and individuals who have endured anything like this. Providers must do better.