da Vinci will save my soul.
Whoa, there! Hey, now! All this talk of soul-saving…
Let’s get this shizzle under control, mmm-kay?
Facts:
- I’m unmotivated, but not depressed.
- Tired, but not of life.
- Sick, but not to death.
- I’m also in a lot of pain, on a somewhat regular basis.
- And I keep carrying a mild fever on-and-off.
This sitch has been getting steadily worse over the last year, and revved up into full-on SHIT STORM sometime around Valentine’s Day, or thereabouts. It’s to the point that I want to do things but just can’t seem to muster the energy.
Which makes no damn sense, since I’m sleeping, like, ALL the time!
History:
My doctor sent me to my gynecologist last year to have my lady bits checked for malfunction, and we agreed to have a procedure done that was supposed to put an end to a lot of my misery. It’s called an endometrial ablation, and what happens is the lining of the womb gets destroyed, thereby lightening or – for most women – even stopping the menstrual cycle altogether.
I was really pulling for Team Bye-Bye Periods, since I can’t have any more kids anyway.
{And beyond that, let’s be honest:I don’t WANT any more kids, either!}.
But unfortunately I am one of the few, statistically speaking, who not only didn’t get the lucky end of the stick – it also made things worse.
Because of course.
So now, a year after THAT failed attempt, we’re going into my lady bits with the big guns – a cannon, even. We are going to blow my uterus to smithereens!
Okay, not really. There will be no explosions.
It’s just that I like to think of this as war, with my body as the battlefield. I have a small background story behind this which only serves to lend itself to the idea that it’s definitely US versus THEM.
Once upon a time…
Several years ago I experienced a miscarriage, after which a doctor performed a D&C.
At the time I had absolutely no idea what that stood for, but I found it amusing to recall the term abbreviation from my short service to the Army. With regard to the military, D&C stands for Drill and Ceremony, which means marching around in tandem on command, perfecting sharp turns and about-faces to perfection.
You can see why I would find that hilarious: A doctor was going to perform Drill and Ceremony on my guts. Tell me that shit ain’t funny. Fine, fine. I’m demented.
Whatevs.
My ex-MIL suggested that D&C might stand for Digestive-something-or-other. She is the kind of person who can’t just say, “Huh, I’m stumped! I don’t know the answer to that!” and will instead spit out ANY answer, no matter how unlikely and stupid, just for the sake of not having to admit she is clueless.
Of course, with this suggestion she came off not only clueless, but also moronic.
I now know, thanks to le googles, that D&C {with regard to medical and NOT to military terms} stands for Dilation and curettage. Follow the link if you wanna know what the hell THAT means.
So then, war. Or, hysterectomy.
Whichever helps you sleep better at night.
I like to think that if I’m giving up my womb, it’s because there are bombs and guns involved. That just makes things more fun.
And bitches, I’m all about the fun!
WTF is a hysterectomy?
It’s the removal of the uterus. A FULL hysterectomy would also entail removal of the girly-balls, which is to say, the ovaries. But there are a score of hormonal issues with that, and it’s not to be undertaken without a lot more complications than those which I have presented.
Not to say I won’t be back to have that done next year, given my luck.
One crisis at a time, though, people.
WTF does this have to do w/energy?
Turns out, quite a lot. Especially if I’m bleeding out on a regular basis. It seems that my lady bits are akin to an artery that’s been sliced.
So not only is my womb completely and utterly worthless… but it’s slowly killing me, too.
A W E S O M E !
Pros:
I’m looking forward to having this procedure done, obvs, because once my uterus is gone, perhaps I can get back to normal. Or, you know, some semblance of normal. Normal-ISH.
I have a small secret to reveal, which you might find weird. I actually LIKE hospitals. I know, I know. That’s just cray. But I want to be honest here. It’s kind of nice to be forced into a bed, where someone else is in charge of figuring out what’s wrong with me.
More than just a physical reward, however, is the emotional boon I get from the validation that accompanies hospitalization. I feel as though I’m always complaining about aches and pains, and I must come off as a hypochondriac. Whether or not that’s really how others see me, that’s how I PERCEIVE that others see me. But if a doctor find there is really something going wrong, that means I’m not crazy. It is very, very important that I be proven NOT CRAZY.
Which, I realize, is a bit crazy in and of itself.
I’m not gonna lie:
I also like the attention. It’s nice to have the focus on ME for a bit. Even if that focus comes with a scalpel and anesthesia.
I’m kind of excited about HOW it’s being done, too. There’s this new technology called da Vinci which consists of these teeny-tiny robot hands that the doctor will operate kind of like a video game. The science and technology buff in me is a bit geeked out over that.
My gyno is going to play Pac Man in my uterus.
Isn’t that kinda cool, you guys?
And because of this spiffy futuristic equipment, I’ll heal more quickly, too.
So instead of being stuck in the hospital for days or even weeks, I probably won’t even have to stay overnight.
And instead of taking weeks or even months to mend, I will probably be up and around within days.
Why is it called da Vinci?
“The product is called “da Vinci” in part because Leonardo da Vinci invented the first robot.
He also used unparalleled anatomical accuracy and three-dimensional details to bring his masterpieces to life.
The da Vinci Surgical System similarly provides physicians with such enhanced detail and precision that the System can simulate an open surgical environment while allowing operation through tiny incisions.”
Cons:
I hate knowing what’s going to happen. I know medical staff tries very hard to be transparent with patients these days, which I appreciate from an academic and legal perspective.
But honestly?
I’d really rather not know all the details. I had to watch this video about the procedure and I had to pause it halfway through because I almost passed out.
Which reminds me of the time I actually DID pass out – while my sister was getting vaccinations back when we were kids.
Which leads me to my next “complaint” – I do not do well with needles. I particularly LOVE when people point out that I’ve had children and thus should be fine with all measure of pricks, pokes, piercings, and prods.
I’m like, “Bitch, I didn’t like it THEN, either!” Having children doesn’t necessarily make one less susceptible to queasiness with regard to one’s own body.
Then there’s waking up from the anesthesia. I know I’m going to throw up. I just know it. And it’s going to hurt, because I barf with every fiber of my being, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, bursting capillaries in my eyes and blood vessels in my face so that afterward I look like I’ve been in a barroom brawl.
So there I’ll be, body all fucked up and torn apart from just having had an organ removed, and I’m going to force trauma upon it the likes of which it might never heal.
I fear that coming pain.
I’m terrified more of THAT than of the actual surgical procedure itself.
Oh gawd – and there will be a breathing tube down my throat. I am really, really scared of that, too.
Shit. I’ll also have a catheter.
I want to hide under my desk just thinking about all that grody, painful stuff.
Here’s the silliest worry I have:
I hate when the IV goes in, but I hate it worse when the fucking thing comes out.
So, anyway.
This was all a really lengthy way of explaining why I haven’t been writing much – or doing anything ELSE much, either.
It’s also a lengthy way of explaining why I’m less likely to be around over the next few weeks.
Too tired.
Not my fault.
#SorryNotSorry
And now you know.
Happy summer and whatnot!
- Have you had a hysterectomy? What should I expect?
- Anyone you know used da Vinci? What was it like?
- Wanna takes bets on my recovery time?