Post-Op news

Well, I had the surgery and I'm in recovery -- if that's what we're calling this.

Last Monday, I had the hysterectomy.  My ovaries and cervix were left, and I stayed in the hospital for two nights in both excruciating pain and boredom.

I should have written this post earlier because there's a lot that I no longer feel like writing about, and things that I've likely forgotten, like being awakened every 2 hours for vitals, and once each night at 3:00 am to have blood drawn.

To bring us up to speed, I went home from the hospital two days later on Wednesday.  I was a slave to my pain meds for the first few days, until I realized that I was still in pain, and could do nothing that I wanted to do.  In fact, this is one of the worst experiences of my life.  So, I decided to go off the meds.

Sounds counterintuitive, right?

More on this later.

The Child Stripper

I realize that this blog is supposed to be about fibroids, but it's turning into a release about all things that are
bothering me.

So, in the natural course of looking for something on the BF's computer, I discovered that he was SO fascinated with an ex-slamhound that he had to review 90+ of her pictures on FB.  And I'm not even exaggerating. I counted. Amazing.

Of course I brought it up, and of course he didn't want to talk about it.  Why?  Because there's shit he doesn't want to tell me and he NEVER wants to fucking talk about it.  He doesn't want to tell me what we both know is the truth.  Or he wants to leave me to my own devices to figure it out.  I'm very upset and extremely disappointed.

Here's the origin of this . . . 

I've never felt like the BF was attracted to me.  He told me some things in the beginning of our relationship that indicated that what he liked physically was WAY different than me, and it has stuck with me ever since.  This particular person -- the gangly Child Stripper (nicknamed such because she was 18 when they got together and eventually became a stripper in Vegas -- very classy girl.  Upon recent investigation, it appears that she's on the 10 year college plan.  Very smart girl) has always bothered me largely because he used her as a departure from his ex, and she's the one that I think he would fuck again in a heartbeat if the timing and geography were right.  In fact if she lived in the city, our relationship would likely not have stood a chance.  

And at this point?  He should just go ahead and get with her.  Because, really?  I'm tired of it.  He should go ahead and get back in contact with her, and on one of his trips, maybe they'll get together and maybe they'll hook up.  I'll figure it out, or I'll ask him and he'll have a striking moment of honesty, and it will be the end of our relationship. Either way, he should do what he wants.  Maybe I'll suggest that.

Honestly, I have enough going on in my life that's upsetting without having my relationship be upsetting too. I have a bad job situation, health situation, and I'm watching my father deteriorate before my eyes. This part is supposed to be my refuge, and the area of my life that's a welcomed departure from the other bullshit that I can't escape.  My relationship is supposed to be part of the solution.

I'm supposed to feel -- with surety -- that the person that I call my boyfriend is attracted to me.  I should feel it as strongly as I can smell the air when it's raining.  I should.  And it's not anything that can be coached or suggested -- not should it be.  It should be natural.  Everyone deserves that.  Perhaps I made a mistake in the beginning.  I'm sure there are a lot of mistakes that I've made.  

But what he's doing now . . . by not talking about this-- or knowing that I'm stewing about it, and not proactively bringing it up . . .is leaving me to my own devices to draw my own conclusions and figure it out.  If he's avoiding the topic, surely there's a reason.  If the situation were reversed and I thought HE had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, I would do everything in my power to get him back on solid ground and feeling good about our relationship.  So I guess I'm not worth it.

If we do break up, the question becomes whether it's before or after the surgery.  All I know is that I don't want to be unhappy going into surgery, so however that looks is what I need to do.  

The Universe Is Testing Me

My job situation is a bit tenuous.  It's the nature of what I do.  I'm a contract consultant, and although I'm on many long projects, I always run the risk that one of my clients will cut me, which they can do at a moment's notice without owing me anything except for a firm goodbye and a handshake.

I've been a contractor for several years, and I've somehow become comfortable with the instability of it all, which is strange, given the fact that I'm such a control freak.

All this to say that the client that I've been working almost exclusively with for over a year has now decided that they want me off of their books.  We thought about having me work for them full time, but we can't make the numbers and the levels work.  So, essentially, I'm working until the Friday before my surgery, and then I'm screwed.  It's the end of the year and I will be jobless, and cut wide open without the ability to interview for a new role.  I'm surprisingly calm about this, which only means that the severity of my situation hasn't yet sunk in.

I'm sure it will.  And soon.

Pre-Op Visit

I adore my doctor.

I had my pre-op visit the other day, and he answered the long list of questions that I asked, with the most important being whether or not the orientation of my incision could be changed.  He's informed me that he would have to do a vertical incision because of the huge size of my uterus.  He didn't seem optimistic about this shift, and said that the worse thing that could happen would be that he could try to give me a horizontal incision, but then decide that he still needed a vertical incision, leaving me with a T across my abdomen.  Naturally I gave in.  Although I'm not happy about the prospect of having a butt in the front AND the back.

Sigh!

Things To Ask

I got so carried away with the I Love You post that I failed to post the very thing I was supposed to post, which are the questions that I plan to ask my doctor tomorrow.  I think I've covered everything.

This is the part where having an audience would be helpful, so that people can chime in with things I might have missed.  Oh well.  I'm working in a vacuum, but at least I'll be able to revisit these.

To Ask Doctor – Pre-Op Visit

• ð        What is my surgical preparation?
• ð        Do I have to remove my nail polish?  Can I wear clear polish?
• ð        What kind of anesthesia will I have?
• ð        Should I harvest blood in case I need a transfusion?
• ð        How long will I be on bed rest?  How often should I get up?
• ð        Will I be able to go up and down the stairs at home?
• ð        Do I have to have a vertical incision?  Why can’t I have a horizontal incision?
• ð        Will I have a catheter?  When does it get removed?
• ð        When can I take a shower?  Take a bath?  Use my hot tub?
• ð        Will I have special stockings to prevent clots in my legs post surgery?
• ð        Will I need a tummy binder?
• ð        How long will I have my IV?
• ð        Will I need anything post-op for gas or constipation?
• ð        Are there any foods that I should definitely consume, or definitely avoid?
• ð        I would absolutely not like to have my ovaries removed.  Is there a chance for them to fail after surgery?
• ð        Will I be in the hospital for one or two days?  What would be the factors that could potentially keep me longer?
• ð        Are there any warning signs that I should watch out for when I go home?
• ð        When can I start working again if I work from home in a sedentary job?  Is two weeks enough time to be off?
• ð        When can I work out?
• ð        How soon before spin class?
• ð        Will I need a tummy tuck?

Tomorrow is Pre-Op, and I Love You

Tomorrow is my pre-op visit with the doctor, where I get to ask all of the questions that I want to know about my surgery, and also where I beg him to give me a horizontal incision rather than vertical.  Not sure if that's going to fly, but I've decided that the idea of having a vertical incision and having the equivalent of two butts (one in the front and the other in the back), makes me want to shoot myself.

(

My dirty little secret is that I always think I'm going to die whenever I have surgery. Normally I know that it's a ridiculous prospect, given that most of ,my surgeries have either been knee surgeries, or relatively minor quick fixes -- usually in extremities.  My last surgery was a few years ago, and it was on my hand.  Very stupid.  Very minor.  But surgery, nonetheless, so I thought I was going to die.  

It was for that reason that I decided to tell my boyfriend of five months that I loved him.  It was the first time either of us had ever uttered those words to one another.  My plan wasn't to tell him until he told me.  I was having surgery on his birthday, so on the night before the surgery (before my cut-off time to eat or drink), I came upstairs wearing the backpack that I got him for his birthday, carrying a tray with a special dessert and champagne.  I leaned over and whispered it in his ear -- as though I didn't want to hear myself say it -- and leaned in close enough so that I didn't have to see his reaction.  I wasn't sure if he'd reciprocate.

But he said that he felt the same way, but he was waiting for me to say it first.  This annoyed me for some reason.  

Years later, we're not really "I love you" people.  We tried it on for size for a while, and then the occasions for which we expressed our love dwindled.  We had an argument one day, and we each accused each other of not meaning it.  Since then, that phrase has meant very little to me.  I don't initiate; I reciprocate.  When we say it, it's because one of us is getting on a flight or traveling.  Or having surgery.  Basically, situations where if the other of us should die, we would feel guilty if our last conversation didn't include an expression of love.  

Essentially, we're right back to the origin of why we began saying it in the first place.  

It's not because he has an aversion to uttering those three words.  He says it every single time he speaks with the women of signficance in his life.  I, on the other hand, say it very rarely.  To anyone, really.  I haven't told my father that I love him in several years, and I can't recall whether or not I managed to make sure my mother knew I loved her before she died.  These are things that make me a horrible person. But really?  I'd rather show them.  And to my credit, it isn't as though my parents were big on the "I love you" statements with me.  Unless they were delivering tough messages, like "Now, you know your father and I love you . . "   It's almost like we felt weird saying it to each other.  Not that we didn't show it, but sometimes gestures aren't accurate representations of how we feel.  

I wonder if my life would have been different if someone had been there to tell me, every day, that they loved me.  I wonder if my relationship would be different if those words naturally rolled off of our tongues every day.  Guess I'll never know.

What I do know is that I have a laundry list of things to discuss with the doctor to prepare for my surgery, and that on my checklist of things to do that day will be to tell my boyfriend that I love him.  

Another thing

This whole not-having-an-audience thing?  I could totally get used to it.  My writing became more and more fucked up as I had to write for people.  But that's not the point of this posting.

I'd like to go on record -- so that this is documented and I can look back on this and understand just how I felt --and say that I'm angry.  To post-surgical Queen, I have no idea of how you feel, months later.  But right now -- one month away from surgery -- please know that I'm downright shitty.  I don't understand how I got here, at this age, and I don't know how it's going to get better.

But I sit today without any sort of job security (which is a lifestyle that I chose), in a house that I don't love (which is a home that I purchased), with a health issue-- the depth of which I don't know (something that I chose to ignore), with a body that I've never really been enamored with - or even liked a little bit (which I guess I could have changed if I really tried) in a life that's never been 'normal' and doesn't stand a chance for normalcy (not that a normal life would have ever been good for me, but sometimes I think it would have been SO much easier), with hair that's a fucked up hot mess that never looks good (ever), and feeling amazingly unsexy and unsexual (which I NEVER thought would happen).

What I'm saying is that where I am is a direct reflection of choices that I made.

So, what I wish for my post-surgical self is that you wait for the pain to subside and deal with these issues systematically, from start to finish, when you have energy.  Make better choices.

You have a lot of work to do.