Unsuccessful surgery

I drove home, crying on and off most of the way. I talked to my mom some on the drive who wanted to gather information. I talked to my best friend and my husband who wanted the same. Everyone was optimistic. "It's probably nothing! It could be anything!" They were right. It really could be anything! The thing that kept me up all night, besides the pain, was knowing just how big this thing was. Measure it out, it's huge, especially when it's taking up all kinds of space by your lady bits. Let me tell you how pleasant that has been! Please, sense my sarcasm. 

I had a week before surgery to not go crazy. Way easier said than done but I didn't look up every little thing. I also had to realize and accept that I would be going to surgery alone. Because of the Covid-19 fiasco, I knew I was going go into this on my own. I wasn't too worried as in the past, any surgery I had was a breeze and I was a stellar patient. 

April 7th, surgery day, my mom came to pick me up and take me to surgery so that my husband could continue to work and provide for our family. Plus, this should be a simple in and out surgery, one overnight stay max the surgeon had explained. 

He was certain it was a large benign cyst that, though didn’t appear to be attach to an ovary on the ultrasound, would be attached to the right ovary once he got in there. He also said with confusion, on the ultrasound it “it looks bad but all your cancer markers came back negative.” So, he was certain it was nothing to worry about. 

My mom dropped me off at the front doors of the hospital and I went through the temp taking and mask donning. I was prepped and into surgery not long after arriving. They gave me an IV and the usual statement I get, "wow, you have thick skin!" Thank you? Next, they wheeled me to the OR and I hopped up on the surgery table and cracked a joke at my own expense, "Wow, I'm really feeling my middle age-ness laying here with no bra." Because what else do you do when you're nervous and baring all from the waist down to a freezing room of complete strangers? Anyway, it got a couple laughs.

I remember looking up the anesthesiologist hovering over me in the stark white room then it was lights out. 

When I woke up, very incoherently mind you, I have a quick flash of a clock on the wall… 4:10 pm. Why is it so late? Then a nurse with short hair saying, "hold this pillow tight to you, honey, it'll help, you’ll understand why in a second. One, two, three, lift." Then searing pain in my stomach and landing on a hospital bed. I vaguely recall the surgeon talking to me but I can't make out his words. Lights out again.

I wake up a little later. A bit more with it. What the hell just happened? I looked at the clock trying to figure out why my 3 hours scheduled surgery took 6. A nurse came in and asked to look at my incisions and give me some IV pain meds. I pulled my gown up, realizing I had multiple IV ports now in my arms, not just the one I went in with. Once my gown was up I realized I didn't just have my c-section re-opened like I was supposed to but they also cut a line from my belly button down. Staples as far as the eye could see down to my nether regions. Now that nurse telling me to hug the pillow made so much more sense. 

Seriously, what the hell just happened? I feel like I've been run over and I'm so lightheaded and weak. This has never happened with surgery before. 

The surgeon came in again and reiterated what I assume he told me before when he was a hazy mutant of my subconscious. He said that what he saw on the ultrasound definitely wasn't what he thought it was. It was much farther back inside me than anticipated and looked like "fish meat" when he cut it open. He said he stopped mid-surgery to call a specialist in the cities who was going to break protocol during the pandemic to come here to help remove it but without an MRI or CT scan it just wasn’t safe. So, they in the end decided to close me up and wait.  He took a biopsy though and sent it off to pathology.

I was trying so hard to process this. What does he mean? The hardest part was that I actually felt near death at this point. I was so weak feeling. I've never felt like this before. Trying to pick up my phone to call or text seemed exhausting so I ignored those who were hoping to hear from me and kept calls with important family short because talking was a chore. I couldn't breathe right even with the oxygen tube on. Why did I even have that, I've never had an oxygen tube after surgery. 

I just felt so useless. All the nurses around me seemed annoyed by it but they didn't know me. They didn't know that normally I'm up immediately after surgery walking and trying to meet my goals to get out of the hospital and go home. They didn't know I usually leave c-sections and surgeries without any pain meds but now I was accepting them left and right. 

Every time I tried to get up my stomach cramped and burned. The air in my abdomen was literally making me nauseous. I could feel it move around inside me and push its way around where it shouldn't be. I kept telling them I had to pee but I had a catheter. Eventually, I showed them, “I have to pee” and like clockwork, my bag would fill a little more. They finally took it out but that meant I had to get up. I had to make it to the toilet. 

My biggest shame at this time was having to ask for help with anything. I have never been one to ask for help, I always think I can handle it. Well, now suddenly, I couldn't. 

On day three of the hospital, I was still feeling so weak. They said my hemoglobin was low but "not that low." It was a 7, which for me is definitely low. That explains the weakness, the oxygen, the rapid pulse, and very low blood pressure. They were gearing up for me to have a blood transfusion. Thank God, an answer to the weakness, it wasn't just me. In the meantime they wanted me to go down for an MRI. The tech came to collect me with a wheelchair. I was embarrassed he wanted me to use it. I said I would walk and I did. I made it down to the imagining room with little air and energy left. He asked me all the typical questions and loaded me into the machine. "Just squeeze this ball if you need me for anything." With that, he went behind the glass and started up the MRI machine. It started to click and whirl. In a frantic panic, I squeezed the ball hard and fast, "STOP! STOP!" I yelled. He asked me what was wrong in a semi annoyed tone. I said, "I have staples." He came over to look at them and said that we couldn't do the MRI, it would cause a horrible burn if we did. 

I was ashamed but I accepted the wheelchair ride back. I was physically and mentally drained. I called my husband once back in the room, barely able to make a coherent sentence. I told him what had happened and he lost it. He called the hospital and told them that virus or no virus he was coming there to be with me to make sure shit got done. What a white knight, eh guys? He did just that. All the nurses and assistants were talking about it and each one that came into my room said, "your husband is coming in right now. We decided it'd be good for him to be here." Little did I know that none of what was happening was being relayed to him this whole time from the doctors. Big miscommunication. 

About a half-hour later I was hooked up to a bag of blood and getting my transfusion. By the time my husband got there, I was on my second bag of packed red cells and starting to perk up. Wow, what a difference that blood made! I kept thinking, "I'm really glad I donate blood because maybe that's my own blood hanging there." Odds are slim to none but a girl can dream, right? It’s a very surreal feeling knowing you're accepting someone else's blood into your body. But wow, I was feeling better by the hour. 

The rest of my hospital stay was strenuous. Nurses were on edge because my husband was there scrutinizing every move they made. Don't get me wrong I was grateful for him being there but some of my nurses were amazing. I'd say about half were phenomenal, definitely in the right profession, and the other half were probably better off in retail where they can be less compassionate. 

I had another two bags of packed red cells before I left and the surgeons came to talk to us again, saying they assumed the mass taking over my pelvis was benign. PHEW! What a relief. Just to be sure though, they are going to get a second opinion from Mayo in Rochester. Odds are a specialist surgeon will need to remove it. So, after nearly five days in the hospital, I was able to go home. Praise Jesus! Now let's heal up and find a specialist that can get in there and get this stupid pork loin (I've come to call it Big Bertha.) out of me.