To be clear, in case there were some of you that didn't know, there are not many "routine procedures" that go routine for me. It's always something. I find myself in that small percentage of people where things tend to go wrong or the treatment doesn't work. That's me. I am not, however, part of the small percentage of people that win the frigging lottery. Nope, can't be part an exclusive club of winners, that isn't how I roll. With all that said, I was doomed from the start on hysterectomy day...that cloudy, cool 29th day of June in the year 2018.
Let's begin the saga. I prepared for this big day by following all the instructions they provided me. I'd washed with their special soap and had used it in all the crevices with the help of Shark Bait. I was squeaky clean, I hadn't had food or water since before midnight and I was ready. I'd done my part.
I checked-in and a nice nurse was taking care of me. I believe her name was Michele. She said my surgery time had been moved up so we had to move quickly. Just then, some random guy with his little blood cart came in. He mumbled his name and Michele said he was going to take a blood sample for a last minute check. As he was tapping around looking for a vein, Michele is asking me questions so my full attention is on her. All the sudden, the Blood Savage turns into a crazed man stabbing, neigh, plunging into a vein in my hand with no warning. My entire body came off the bed and I was yelling out in pain. What the actual fuck just happened? The look on Michele's face was horror as well. I laid there with wide-eyes and asked Michele what the hell just happened and she said she didn't know, but it should never have happened like that and the MF'er had taken blood right where she needed to put the IV, which meant now she needed a new vein for the IV. She, too, was mad and apologized for his lack of bedside manner and judgement.
As things turned out, the surgery before me was put back on the agenda, so I had time to wait, after all. I chilled with Shark Bait and started watching YouTube videos on Robotic Hysterectomy's with Vaginal Removal. Shark Bait was, like, "what are you doing? Why would you watch that?" I was like, "meh, why not?" I continued to watch until they were prying and prying and prying and prying to get the uterus out of this girls vagina. That's about when I had to stop watching. Let it just be a mystery.
Finally, it was time and they took me to the operating room where about six people all started working on me at once like a Nascar pit crew. It was intense. That is all I remember until a nice nurse named Linda was trying to wake me up. "Cassondra....how are you doing....there she is...she is starting to wake....how is your pain....?" I mumbled something about there being a lot of pain. This went on for I don't know how long, but I remember her saying multiple times, "okay, we'll give you a little more..." Finally, I could open my eyes and started to banter with Linda. I don't know what I was saying, but I was probably being silly because as the other nurse came to get me to take me to my room, Linda said, "We have a real stoner here...she is totally stoned..." I'm pretty sure the hilarity continued all the way to my room, but I don't really remember that part.
During the course of my recovery and overnight stay, I met nurse Windy. She looked like and acted like my pal SassyPants. She kept it real and was super awesome. She handed me over to a nurse named Carri (I think) for the night. I felt like I was in the best care. They kept coming in ever so often to give me more pills, bring me beverages, helped me walk, etc. They made me not want to leave. You never want to leave the people with drugs. Even after Carri woke me at 3:30 am to pull the catheter out of my junk, I still wasn't mad, because...drugs. It also came up in casual conversation that apparently I had a bigger uterus than the doctor expected, so there was some tearing as they brought it out and so I had some extra stitches down there... I basically just birthed my uterus, thanks a lot for being bigger than usual. The only thing that should be "bigger than usual" is a pumpkin in the Jumbo Pumpkin growing contest at the State Fair, you know what I mean?
After all my care at the hospital, Shark Bait brought me home the next day. He was doing a pretty good job of taking care of me, but let's be honest, he was no Nurse Windy. I was thankful for him nonetheless.
After two days home I knew something wasn't quite right. My throat and tongue were still sore, swollen and angry and I was nauseous all the time. It hurt to eat or drink anything. I had a lot of down south pain, too, but I figured that was just part of the deal. To top it all off, I also hadn't pooped yet. Apparently this is a big deal, which all the nurses warned me about, because my meds cause constipation. Concerned about all of these things, I called my surgeon's office. One of his assistants called me back and we discussed everything going on. She wasn't really worried about anything except the pooping. I said, "I'm taking two tablets of stool softener, Miralax, I'm drinking prune juice and eating cherries, it's going to happen..." She then goes on to tell me that this is mission critical and if it doesn't come out, I'm going to have to use my fingers and pick it out. I was like, WHOA. I didn't say there was a landslide against the trap door that has caused an impaction, I feel like it's probably like a lazy lava making it's way. I'm not that worried. I got off the phone with her and I told Shark Bait what she said. He said, "Well, we could get you Taco Bell for dinner. I guarantee you that will work." I've only eaten at Taco Bell a couple times in my life, so I asked advice on food choice. It was a unanimous decision, The Burrito Supreme was my answer. God Speed.
As luck would have it, I did not have to pick concrete poop out of my butthole. Thank you, six-pound, five-ounce baby Jesus. My Fourth of July was an explosive one on many levels, so I was spared further experimentation on my bowels.
The next day, the warm 5th day of this July in 2018, I did end up going to the walk-in clinic about my sore throat. The doctor also felt it was just normal reactionary type stuff going on with the tube and anesthesia used. Well, that's great. I guess I'd just ride it out.
I had now survived all the way til Saturday, July 8th. I told Shark Bait to go fishing with his pal Buck Dooley since he had been locked in the house with me all week. Reluctantly, he went. I'd be fine. I didn't feel good, so I was no fun anyway. I couldn't get over the nausea, I wasn't sleeping well because I had to get up and pee like every 30 minutes, down south was not happy and now all four incisions on my belly were ON FIRE and so itchy I couldn't stand it. I thought to myself, I need to calm down, what could I take to calm down? (Insert light bulb here) Wait, don't we have special brownies up in the pantry for just this type of occasion? I'll just take a little bite, just a little to take the edge off...it'll be fine. Google says it is okay.
I continued to lay there watching TV, feeling calmer. I just kept taking pills and laid there, miserable, watching a long marathon of Say Yes to the Dress. By the time Shark Bait got home, I was a mess. I. LOST. MY. SHIT. Shark Bait rushed over to me on the couch and asked what was wrong. I started sobbing. I mean U-G-L-Y, hysterical crying. Shark Bait didn't know what to do. He said, "Baby, what's wrong, talk to me!" I attempted to talk, all the while ugly crying and said through sobs, gasps and all the drama I possessed, "Those Moms are just so mean....those girls just want to be beautiful...and those people are mean...they deserve to be beautiful!!!!!! And, I didn't get to have my Mom with me when I wedding dress shopped because Dad wouldn't let her...and it's just so sad....." Shark Bait is a champ. He helps me stand up and just holds me as I sob and wipe my face and nose all over his shirt. He just rubs my back and tells me it's gonna be okay and ushers me to the bathroom. It's noteworthy to say that when I came back to the living room, the channel had been changed. I guess no more drama for me on that night.
Shark Bait fed me dinner and then I tried to go to bed. I couldn't sleep. My body ached everywhere, no position was comfortable. I had the biggest headache I've ever had. I tossed and turned. I thought I was dying. I was soaking wet with sweat, but freezing cold, yet I didn't have a fever. I couldn't let the blankets touch me, but needed them because I was freezing. This went on all night.
I lived until Sunday, the 8th day of July, in 2018, by the grace of God. I was feeling only slightly better. Shark Bait and I decided to go to the walk-in clinic again as my incisions were so red and on fire, I was sure I was dying of some sort of infection. Get a hysterectomy they said, it'll be fun they said. It'll be worth it, they said. Evil-Mother-Trucking-Vagina-Hating-Princesses-of-Pain. Never listening to them again!
After over an hour at the walk-in clinic we discover that I am allergic to my sutures and we have two choices, go in and dig them out, or just ride out the bad times until they fully dissolve and are absorbed into my system. Well, naturally the first option is out, so she gets me all tricked out with drugs to help me through these trying times. I ask her if I can get meds for the nausea and she complies and writes a prescription for that. Then, by luck, she says, "what were you saying about peeing all the time? That's not a side-effect, let's check you for a bladder infection." Bingo. Bladder infection would explain why I was feeling so horrible. Pills for that. She wrote me like 7-8 prescriptions for me and I was scared Rite-Aid was going to put a fraud alert on my account. Like someone stole my doctor and forced her to write all these prescriptions.
Within hours of taking my new cocktail of narcotics, I started to feel better. I feel like there are a lot of people out there fighting far bigger battles than I, and this is temporary, but I am not a good sick person. I'm a real pain in the ass and THANK YOU, Shark Bait! You are THE BEST. Someone else might have left me out on the corner on trash day.
So, we are a couple days beyond that now and I am still living, still fighting the normal pains of recovering from a hysterectomy, still fighting the incisions and nausea, but I feel like it is manageable now. I have managed all of this with just a handful of videos posted to Facebook and a lot of TMI about pooping. I stayed off of social media on the darkest of days, so I guess I'll call it a social win at this point. I hope from here forward I can just heal. It's very hard to keep myself from doing naughty things like lifting and bending down to get stuff. I don't want to turn into a total powder puff princess.
Thanks to all that have sent messages of encouragement, I appreciate you all. Everyone else, thanks for listening to my post surgery drama.
I'm going to leave you with a few thoughts based on my experience...
P.S. Today I watched a marathon of My 600-lb Life. That's not really helping my morale either.
Let's begin the saga. I prepared for this big day by following all the instructions they provided me. I'd washed with their special soap and had used it in all the crevices with the help of Shark Bait. I was squeaky clean, I hadn't had food or water since before midnight and I was ready. I'd done my part.
I checked-in and a nice nurse was taking care of me. I believe her name was Michele. She said my surgery time had been moved up so we had to move quickly. Just then, some random guy with his little blood cart came in. He mumbled his name and Michele said he was going to take a blood sample for a last minute check. As he was tapping around looking for a vein, Michele is asking me questions so my full attention is on her. All the sudden, the Blood Savage turns into a crazed man stabbing, neigh, plunging into a vein in my hand with no warning. My entire body came off the bed and I was yelling out in pain. What the actual fuck just happened? The look on Michele's face was horror as well. I laid there with wide-eyes and asked Michele what the hell just happened and she said she didn't know, but it should never have happened like that and the MF'er had taken blood right where she needed to put the IV, which meant now she needed a new vein for the IV. She, too, was mad and apologized for his lack of bedside manner and judgement.
As things turned out, the surgery before me was put back on the agenda, so I had time to wait, after all. I chilled with Shark Bait and started watching YouTube videos on Robotic Hysterectomy's with Vaginal Removal. Shark Bait was, like, "what are you doing? Why would you watch that?" I was like, "meh, why not?" I continued to watch until they were prying and prying and prying and prying to get the uterus out of this girls vagina. That's about when I had to stop watching. Let it just be a mystery.
Finally, it was time and they took me to the operating room where about six people all started working on me at once like a Nascar pit crew. It was intense. That is all I remember until a nice nurse named Linda was trying to wake me up. "Cassondra....how are you doing....there she is...she is starting to wake....how is your pain....?" I mumbled something about there being a lot of pain. This went on for I don't know how long, but I remember her saying multiple times, "okay, we'll give you a little more..." Finally, I could open my eyes and started to banter with Linda. I don't know what I was saying, but I was probably being silly because as the other nurse came to get me to take me to my room, Linda said, "We have a real stoner here...she is totally stoned..." I'm pretty sure the hilarity continued all the way to my room, but I don't really remember that part.
During the course of my recovery and overnight stay, I met nurse Windy. She looked like and acted like my pal SassyPants. She kept it real and was super awesome. She handed me over to a nurse named Carri (I think) for the night. I felt like I was in the best care. They kept coming in ever so often to give me more pills, bring me beverages, helped me walk, etc. They made me not want to leave. You never want to leave the people with drugs. Even after Carri woke me at 3:30 am to pull the catheter out of my junk, I still wasn't mad, because...drugs. It also came up in casual conversation that apparently I had a bigger uterus than the doctor expected, so there was some tearing as they brought it out and so I had some extra stitches down there... I basically just birthed my uterus, thanks a lot for being bigger than usual. The only thing that should be "bigger than usual" is a pumpkin in the Jumbo Pumpkin growing contest at the State Fair, you know what I mean?
After all my care at the hospital, Shark Bait brought me home the next day. He was doing a pretty good job of taking care of me, but let's be honest, he was no Nurse Windy. I was thankful for him nonetheless.
After two days home I knew something wasn't quite right. My throat and tongue were still sore, swollen and angry and I was nauseous all the time. It hurt to eat or drink anything. I had a lot of down south pain, too, but I figured that was just part of the deal. To top it all off, I also hadn't pooped yet. Apparently this is a big deal, which all the nurses warned me about, because my meds cause constipation. Concerned about all of these things, I called my surgeon's office. One of his assistants called me back and we discussed everything going on. She wasn't really worried about anything except the pooping. I said, "I'm taking two tablets of stool softener, Miralax, I'm drinking prune juice and eating cherries, it's going to happen..." She then goes on to tell me that this is mission critical and if it doesn't come out, I'm going to have to use my fingers and pick it out. I was like, WHOA. I didn't say there was a landslide against the trap door that has caused an impaction, I feel like it's probably like a lazy lava making it's way. I'm not that worried. I got off the phone with her and I told Shark Bait what she said. He said, "Well, we could get you Taco Bell for dinner. I guarantee you that will work." I've only eaten at Taco Bell a couple times in my life, so I asked advice on food choice. It was a unanimous decision, The Burrito Supreme was my answer. God Speed.
As luck would have it, I did not have to pick concrete poop out of my butthole. Thank you, six-pound, five-ounce baby Jesus. My Fourth of July was an explosive one on many levels, so I was spared further experimentation on my bowels.
The next day, the warm 5th day of this July in 2018, I did end up going to the walk-in clinic about my sore throat. The doctor also felt it was just normal reactionary type stuff going on with the tube and anesthesia used. Well, that's great. I guess I'd just ride it out.
I had now survived all the way til Saturday, July 8th. I told Shark Bait to go fishing with his pal Buck Dooley since he had been locked in the house with me all week. Reluctantly, he went. I'd be fine. I didn't feel good, so I was no fun anyway. I couldn't get over the nausea, I wasn't sleeping well because I had to get up and pee like every 30 minutes, down south was not happy and now all four incisions on my belly were ON FIRE and so itchy I couldn't stand it. I thought to myself, I need to calm down, what could I take to calm down? (Insert light bulb here) Wait, don't we have special brownies up in the pantry for just this type of occasion? I'll just take a little bite, just a little to take the edge off...it'll be fine. Google says it is okay.
I continued to lay there watching TV, feeling calmer. I just kept taking pills and laid there, miserable, watching a long marathon of Say Yes to the Dress. By the time Shark Bait got home, I was a mess. I. LOST. MY. SHIT. Shark Bait rushed over to me on the couch and asked what was wrong. I started sobbing. I mean U-G-L-Y, hysterical crying. Shark Bait didn't know what to do. He said, "Baby, what's wrong, talk to me!" I attempted to talk, all the while ugly crying and said through sobs, gasps and all the drama I possessed, "Those Moms are just so mean....those girls just want to be beautiful...and those people are mean...they deserve to be beautiful!!!!!! And, I didn't get to have my Mom with me when I wedding dress shopped because Dad wouldn't let her...and it's just so sad....." Shark Bait is a champ. He helps me stand up and just holds me as I sob and wipe my face and nose all over his shirt. He just rubs my back and tells me it's gonna be okay and ushers me to the bathroom. It's noteworthy to say that when I came back to the living room, the channel had been changed. I guess no more drama for me on that night.
Shark Bait fed me dinner and then I tried to go to bed. I couldn't sleep. My body ached everywhere, no position was comfortable. I had the biggest headache I've ever had. I tossed and turned. I thought I was dying. I was soaking wet with sweat, but freezing cold, yet I didn't have a fever. I couldn't let the blankets touch me, but needed them because I was freezing. This went on all night.
I lived until Sunday, the 8th day of July, in 2018, by the grace of God. I was feeling only slightly better. Shark Bait and I decided to go to the walk-in clinic again as my incisions were so red and on fire, I was sure I was dying of some sort of infection. Get a hysterectomy they said, it'll be fun they said. It'll be worth it, they said. Evil-Mother-Trucking-Vagina-Hating-Princesses-of-Pain. Never listening to them again!
After over an hour at the walk-in clinic we discover that I am allergic to my sutures and we have two choices, go in and dig them out, or just ride out the bad times until they fully dissolve and are absorbed into my system. Well, naturally the first option is out, so she gets me all tricked out with drugs to help me through these trying times. I ask her if I can get meds for the nausea and she complies and writes a prescription for that. Then, by luck, she says, "what were you saying about peeing all the time? That's not a side-effect, let's check you for a bladder infection." Bingo. Bladder infection would explain why I was feeling so horrible. Pills for that. She wrote me like 7-8 prescriptions for me and I was scared Rite-Aid was going to put a fraud alert on my account. Like someone stole my doctor and forced her to write all these prescriptions.
Within hours of taking my new cocktail of narcotics, I started to feel better. I feel like there are a lot of people out there fighting far bigger battles than I, and this is temporary, but I am not a good sick person. I'm a real pain in the ass and THANK YOU, Shark Bait! You are THE BEST. Someone else might have left me out on the corner on trash day.
 |
| All my prescriptions... |
So, we are a couple days beyond that now and I am still living, still fighting the normal pains of recovering from a hysterectomy, still fighting the incisions and nausea, but I feel like it is manageable now. I have managed all of this with just a handful of videos posted to Facebook and a lot of TMI about pooping. I stayed off of social media on the darkest of days, so I guess I'll call it a social win at this point. I hope from here forward I can just heal. It's very hard to keep myself from doing naughty things like lifting and bending down to get stuff. I don't want to turn into a total powder puff princess.
Thanks to all that have sent messages of encouragement, I appreciate you all. Everyone else, thanks for listening to my post surgery drama.
I'm going to leave you with a few thoughts based on my experience...
- Taco Bell should NOT be used in conjunction with actual laxatives.
- If a shady-looking guy with a blood cart tries to take your blood, WATCH HIM.
- Do not infiltrate special brownie recipes into your medication list
- If your girl parts were just tampered with, DO NOT watch a marathon of Say Yes to the Dress
- Don't let your care provider go fishing
P.S. Today I watched a marathon of My 600-lb Life. That's not really helping my morale either.
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