What in the...???

For the love of all that's ...loved?
Honestly, I have no idea what the hell has been happening lately. Perhaps the planets are out of alignment, as my Mother often reminds me that can screw with communication and whatnot. Or, perhaps the Vicodin I took a little while ago is kicking in, and I really have no idea what I am even typing. Why am I typing anyway? It has been a while. A lot of shit is going on.

I was busy writing a book. I am still in the process of writing and editing, but, was rudely interrupted a few weeks ago. I went for my routine ob/gyn appointment and mentioned a few issues I had been having. Mid-cycle bleeding, mood swings, hair loss...all things I thought my doctor would tell me were perfectly normal and send me on my way. Instead, he mentioned the word "surgery." SURGERY??? No, no...see, I don't do surgery. I had emergency surgery once, in 2002, and it wasn't a good situation. I am a nurse with an anxiety disorder and a hypochondriac! I don't fair well with surgery.

Worse yet, he tells me he wants to do this surgery to make sure I don't have "some sort of freaky endometrial cancer." Uh-huh...soothing. I could hardly think straight when he read the word "bump" off my nicely written list of issues I wanted to discuss with him. He was holding my list in his hand and asked me where the bump was. Since I was a little girl, I have had a freckle in my pelvic area, near my hip bone. After my third child was born, I noticed a skin tag-like thing grew on top of the freckle and I wanted him to check it out. He took one look at it and said, "Oh, that's a wart." WHAT??

But, before I could start screaming profanities and telling him I have been married for 4 years with no possibility of having warts, his phone rang. He answered it. I was sitting, undressed and alone on the table scared to death about endometrial cancer and furious that my husband was a cheater. I don't remember much more of the visit with my doctor. He told me to schedule an appointment to have my "wart" removed, that someone would call me with a surgery date for my hysteroscopy and when I nervously asked him if I might be dying...he told me he couldn't answer that until he got my biopsy results back.

I walked to my car, shaking, and called my husband as soon as I got inside. I asked him to come home right away as I didn't think I could be alone with the kids after everything I had just heard. Thankfully, he was home before me and I didn't have to suffer alone. Long story short...

I had an ultrasound a few days later. I was told I had four uterine fibroids, but everything else looked good. I felt better about that. I got a letter in the mail the day of the ultrasound with a surgery date of 7/13, which took all my reassurance away. They told me in the office they scheduled six weeks out, but my surgery was less than two weeks away. It must be bad. I had my pre-op testing last Tuesday in my doctors office, and he mentioned there was some other "spot" on my ultrasound and that he hoped it was just a polyp. I was scared out of my mind, and drove pretty much everyone in my family insane with my worry. I had to return to my doctors office last Friday to have my "wart" removed. This is how that visit went down.

I arrived, waited about a half hour before getting called back into my room. I got undressed from the waste down and sat on the table, waiting for the good ol doc to come remove my "wart." He enters the room and we exchange greetings, for the second time that week. His nurse is with him and as he is talking to me, casually, he takes my legs and places them in the stirrups. I am sort of confused, thinking the stirrups are going to be rather uncomfortable to be in while he removes something from my pelvic region, but whatever, he is the boss. Before I knew what was happening, he starts doing my pap test.
ME: Um, doc...you do realize the thing you are supposed to be removing is on the outside of my vagina, right?
HIM: Oh, geez...what am I doing? I am doing your pap! I forgot you were having something removed.
ME: Yeah, ok well, I am having surgery on Tuesday. Are you going to forget anything while that's going on? I mean, I would like to keep my uterus if possible, you know?
HIM: (Laughing) Yes, I don't know what I was thinking. Of course you will keep your uterus. Tell me again why we are removing this? This is just a skin tag.
ME: (Seriously, about to go postal...a fucking skin tag, like I thought to begin with. But then he went and scared me into thinking I had some nasty virus that caused me to get warts.Fuck!) Um, doctor, I told you I thought it was a skin tag, but you said it was a wart??
HIM: Hmm, yeah, you didn't need to have this taken off. I will send it to pathology anyway, but it's just a skin tag.

Communication is just wonderful, really! As much as I enjoy giant holes in my pelvic region and fleeing thoughts of a cheating spouse, I could have done without all that nonsense. Regardless, it was done and over with and I left the office with serious doubts about letting this man operate on me! I like my doctor, truly. But, he seemed off and it obviously concerned me. Nevertheless, I showed up for my surgery Monday morning with my husband and sister in tow. I was filled with anxiety and wanted to run in the opposite direction, but figured I had been bleeding for twenty some days at that point...how much more could I really take before needing a transfusion? Before long I was doped up and laughing on the operating table without a care in the world. I woke to my sister and husband sitting next to me, both reassuring me everything went well and my doctor didn't think I had cancer. He removed two polyps from my uterus and said they looked normal, but would have them sent to pathology to be sure.

I felt drugged and foggy and wasn't paying much attention to anything anyone was saying. I managed to hear "doesn't look like cancer" and that's about it! I set the monitors off several times when my heart rate dipped into the 40's. Despite feeling heart palpitations and mentioning them to the nurse, she scurried in and turned the alarm off each time it sounded. I was released with a prescription for Vicodin and orders not to put anything in my vagina for two weeks. I was happy to be home, and looking forward to a couple days in bed to rest. Except that didn't happen.

My heart rate remained low, the heart palpitations didn't stop and I was worried something was wrong. Around 1 in the morning, I called the on call doctor to seek some reassurance, and he tells me to go to the er. Oh, fucking goody! Off I went, alone, in the middle of the night. Of course my husband offered to take me, but I didn't want to bother family to come babysit...so I broke my discharge instructions and drove myself. Another waste of time, the er did pretty much nothing. Five hours and an EKG later, and I was on my way home with instructions to follow up with my cardiologist. Ok, am I 94? Or 33?

I am assuming it was all the drugs in my system that made my heart rate low, but I do see my cardiologist tomorrow to be on the safe side. My uterus hurts and I have cramps, but whatever, I probably don't have cancer...so YAY! I also don't have warts, but I do have a gaping hole that hurts a lot in a sensitive area. I bought a puppy last Friday, because I am a jackass, and along with chasing my three energetic children around...I also have a puppy to deal with. He is awfully cute, however. I don't really remember the point of this post. The Vicodin is definitely working...and I am going to stop writing now. Time to enjoy the moment, the silence...because way too soon, it will be over and I will be pulling my hair out again. Please excuse the babbling...I will return in the next few days with something that makes sense.