The Story of Our Sebby: Part III

LG Optimus 155

The doctor came in and I could tell she was concerned.  She solemnly told me that my hematoma was tremendously infected and they were going to have to take it out.  I was minutely nervous about having a second surgery there again, but I was SO very relieved that it was finally going to be over!!  But, then the doctor mentioned that the infection had spread pretty good and…well, there was a chance they weren’t going to be able to save my uterus.  I immediately started bawling as my doctor came and held my hand.  I hadn’t exactly wanted more kids, but I knew it was a possibility because I had finally done it.  Now that might be taken from me.  I didn’t realize something I hardly wished for could be taken away so quickly and would devastate me so much.  I finally calmed down and rationally noted that if I wanted to live, I had to let them do what they needed to do.   So I signed that consent form that had “possible hysterectomy” written at the top.

I was supposed to be taken to the operating room within the hour, but it took almost three.  The entire time ticked away slowly until a transporter came and wheeled me out of my room.  My father followed us to the surgery section of the hospital where I met two of my surgeons (my obstetrician and a gynecological oncologist, and no, he wasn’t there for cancer).  My dad had to say goodbye-for-now, and I was nervous until the laughing gas hit me.  I remember thinking, “Gee, this is GREAT!!  Take whatever you want, I’m good!”  HA.  They pricked an IV in my thumb and soon I was out.

I believe the burn of the incision woke me as the anesthetic wore off.  It was terribly painful and as soon as I could remember how to talk again I was begging for more pain medicine.  They wheeled me to a different room and I realized they were putting me in the Intensive Care Unit (pictured above), not a recovery room.  As they were exchanging IV bags, I noticed there was a rather large tube in my nose, running down my throat.  I became scared again.  What was going on?  Didn’t everything go all right?  Then I wondered most importantly, did I still have a uterus?!

I did!  I was relieved, yet still a little scared.  Why was I in the ICU?  Did something go wrong?  I finally got a visit from the doctor about an hour after being moved and found out that I was only there as a precaution.  They also used stitches that took longer to dissolve to prevent future internal bleeding.  I had a tube in my nose that went into my stomach because my uterus had attached itself to my intestines.  They had separated and stitched them back up, but I wasn’t supposed to digest any food for a few days.  That also meant a liquid diet.

I was moved to the recovery floor after two days and finally got my tube out after another two.  I had about a week in the hospital to recover from my second surgery in two weeks.  I had Dilaudid for the pain and when they took me off of it (COLD TURKEY), I felt like dying again.  No matter what happens to me in the future, I never want that stuff again.  I finally made it out of the hospital, admittedly a little weak, a long twelve days after that first ambulance ride.

Since this time, I have learned a little more to not feel sorry for myself because, unless I’m dead, my health could always be worse.  I ran across a quote recently that read:

“It doesn’t matter if the glass is half empty or half full.  Be grateful that you have a glass, and there is something in it.”

My life is my glass and my son is the something that’s in it.