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.