Recovery, oye. I am blessed with a wonderful husband who woke up first thing the morning after the surgery and CLEANED the entire house so I wouldn't be tempted to even lift a finger. (My fingers were pretty much the only moving part of my body that functioned actually). He slept on the floor in our living room for the first 2 weeks after the surgery since I couldn't sleep in the bed. My awesome Mom came up to Rexburg on Friday as well to help us out in any way she could and my sister Melanie came up for a couple days as well.
Coming out of surgery I didn't expect the recovery to be horrible, I had been told that I could potentially return to work in 3 days so I thought everything would be pretty smooth sailing. However, that was not the case. I was physically incapable of doing anything for myself for a solid week and a half. As in I needed help to even sit down on the toilet, to get dressed and especially preparing food, even the simplest food like chicken noodle soup or mac and cheese. For those of you who know me, you know this was torture because I am a fairly independent person.
We started marking my progress by how many "laps" I could make. A lap consisted of doing my "penguin/granny" walk as Brock calls it, around the kitchen, down the hallway, around the bedroom, our office, and then back to my bed on the couch. Doing that once or twice was enough to knock me out for another hour or two nap. I reverted back to an infant state of sleeping, eating, taking laps, maybe thirty minutes of a movie, and back to sleep.
I had pain in my throat for a few days from the breathing tube, that turns out wasn't all from the breathing tube, haha. When they do any kind of abdominal surgery like this, they literally blow that area up like a balloon with a gas. It stays localized during the surgery, but there isn't really a great way to get it out, so for the next week the gas floated around between my rib cage, collar bones, shoulders etc, talk about a weird (and by weird I mean painful) sensation.
The side effect that lasted the longest was the swelling. Once I did get back to work after about 2 weeks I lived in maxi skirts thanks to the wonderful Leanne Barlow. After a few days one of my co-workers asked me why and I told them my stomach was too swollen for pants. He gave me a funny look and I couldn't help but laugh because it was a "is that what they are calling fat these days" kind of look, so funny. But there was a lot of internal swelling and it was so tender with any kind of pressure so I didn't wear pants other pajama bottoms for 6 weeks.
At six weeks I thought I was feeling pretty good. I was no longer taking any pain meds, I was in pants, I was back to work full time. The next step was to start exercising again. Sitting for 6 weeks did me no favors so between that and the fact that they tore apart my entire core during the process of the surgery, I was one weak duck. (As in I tried to vacuum at one point and could hardly push my dyson.) So what did I do? I attempted to work out, emphasis on the attempt. I tried to run, I made it about .7 miles but probably walked about .4 of it. I attempted to do situps and couldn't even do fifteen. Not that I have always had an incredible body, but I have NEVER even been sore from doing situps, even if I did 60+, they just never phased me. It was possibly the most discouraged moment of the whole surgery ordeal as fitness is such an important thing to me.
So I put the running shoes away and continued to just take it easy for another five weeks. At eleven weeks I worked up the courage to try again. This time I took a running buddy (who actually was in the labor and delivery room just above me while I was in surgery) and we tested ourselves. We ran a straight .75 miles. It wasn't much, but it was progress.
Since then, things have pretty much been on the up and up. I got lectured by my doc 5 months after the surgery for working out too much, so I have spent the last few months trying to find a balance where I can workout without inflaming the scar tissue which causes a lot of pain and tends to throw me into panic mode. I still literally celebrate every day that I am pain free. These days are the days that I don't worry the endometriosis is growing back, that I don't have another hidden ectopic pregnancy, that I don't question if the pain is from scar tissue or some other thing like appendicitis (I'll be honest, I wish they took my appendix out during the surgery so I wouldn't stress) or a cyst of some sort.
I don't share all of this as a woe is me or plea for pity, if that is what I was going for, I would have posted this all when I was actually going through it. I post this because in order to learn and grow in life, we have to go through times like this when we are made weak and helpless. It is when we can see these moments and be humbled and appreciate them, that we truly learn and grow from them. Which leads me to the life lessons I learned as a result of all of this.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Part 1: The Surgery
I don't know if anybody even still reads this blog, I haven't posted in FOREVER, but this is something that I have felt the need to post, I just haven't known how to do it, so I just haven't blogged, not very rational, I know. Anyway, here it goes, it is going to be up close and personal, I would ask for anyone who reads this to be respectful as it is very personal. I am doing it in three parts so there will be more to come. Again, it is personal and parts even sacred, however, I have felt prompted to share these experiences for those who may share similar trials and if even one person at some point in time can benefit from them, then it is worth it.
On February 14 (of this year, 2013), I had emergency room surgery. I had been feeling a significant pain in my lower right abdomen. Having multiple good reasons to believe that I was not pregnant in any way, shape, or form, I figured it was probably just an ovarian cyst but since it was on the right side went in to get it checked for appendicitis.
After getting a blessing from Brock and our friend Michael, we went to the emergency room and got to the room around 10 am. They started running basic tests and as they pulled us out a couple hours later for an ultra sound, the informed us that I had tested positive for pregnancy. While there was a moment of joy, I knew that there was still something wrong. I was having a lot of pain and was only "9 days" pregnant. They did a couple different kinds of ultra sound and couldn't see any pregnancy, which would be normal for 9 days. So we went back to the room and waited.
The doctor came in and told us that there was a good chance that it was an ectopic pregnancy and that they saw some fluid in my pelvis in the ultra sound but didn't know what kind of fluid it was. He advised he was going to make an appointment with an OB/GYN for me for the next day. However, for insurance purposes, we told him that anything that happened would have to be in the ER, or I'd have to travel to Utah, which I didn't think was a big deal. Within an hour, the on-call OB was next to my bed telling me that the amount of fluid in my pelvis was significant and he wouldn't allow me to travel unless I was in a medical vehicle due to the fact that he didn't know what the fluid was or what was causing it. From there, everything happened very quickly.
He did a further examination and was still unable to determine what was going on inside of me/what was causing it. He said he would need to do a laparoscopic surgery to determine what the fluid was, where it was coming from, and if it was an ectopic pregnancy. Best case scenario would have me in and out of surgery in 45 minutes. We had time to call my mom and give her an update and call Brock's mom and have them both spread the word to our families that we needed prayers going into this surgery, and then the nurses came in and gave me the run down, and they wheeled me off to surgery about 4:15 pm.
Just over four hours later, the surgery ended, and I woke up from the anesthetics. I remember waking up freezing cold. My great nurse put this hose that was attached to my bed in the blankets with me, it was like having a hair drier in bed with you, easily the best part of this process. :) They brought the doctor in to bring me up to speed. It wound up being a worst case scenario. I was in fact 6 weeks pregnant but the baby was stuck in my right fallopian tube. The fallopian tube and ruptured and had been leaking blood into my pelvis that measured 120 cc's after being sucked out (equivalent to 1/2 cup of blood). They discovered endometriosis growing, but it was in the early stages and contained to the right side. The doctor was able to clean all that up and suck out the blood that had leaked into my pelvis, however, the pregnancy and my right fallopian tube could not be saved. The doctor assured me that it was no longer a living pregnancy by the time he got to it. He spent about 45 minutes alone trying to repair my tube, but said when it came down to it, he felt very strongly that he needed to remove it due to the amount of scar tissue that would form because of the extensive damage creating a guaranteed risk of further ectopic pregnancies.
I like to think that I took this update like a champ because I just nodded and said ok, thinking that what's done is done and all I can do is learn from it and move forward. (I was also on a lot of medication, so that could have had something to do with my lack of emotion at the time.) He went out and gave Brock the update. I was not there, but I know he was grateful to hear I was alive as it had been over four hours since I was wheeled from his side for a 45 minute surgery. Dr. Evans then called my mom to explain everything to her per my request so I wouldn't have to, I'm really bad at admitting that I am human and have bodily pains and such, I pretty much bawled just telling her I was thinking about going to the ER. I was then taken to my recovery room.
Brock was there waiting for me. My sweetheart who spent our first Valentine's day as a married couple by my side in the ER/waiting with no answers or updates while I underwent surgery. What a trooper. I laid there for a few hours, trying to eat a little here and there as I hadn't eaten anything other than a pop tart all day. The nurse encouraged me after about an hour and a half to try to walk around. Ha. Ya right, I stood up, walked about 5 steps and threw up everything I had just eaten. Back to bed. There were these horrible horrible pulse things on my ankles that keep you from getting clots that would squeeze my legs and machines that would beep at me any time I got close to falling asleep because I wasn't breathing enough I guess. Talk about torture, I don't like things waking me up, but I REALLY don't like loud buzzing beeping things waking me up, haha. The nurse took them off finally and I was able to sleep for about 45 minutes and it was the best sleep I think I have ever had.
I woke up and told the nurse I was ready to go home. They put me in a wheelchair and my pj's (clever husband to go grab those when he went to fill my prescriptions while I was sleeping) and took me out to the car. Main street in Rexburg is only 25 mph, but I am pretty sure I made Brock drive about 10. We got home, I walked from the street to the door (not without throwing up in the middle of course) and plopped down onto the makeshift bed that Brock had thrown together on the couch for me. (If you've ever seen our bed, you know there is NO WAY I was going to make it into that thing, haha.) It was now about 11:30 pm. We were both exhausted but Brock whipped up some soup for me, cut my pills in half so I could swallow them and let me pick whatever movie I wanted to fall asleep to. (I picked "The Help" because I knew he probably wouldn't ever watch it otherwise, he really liked it.) I fell asleep on the couch and Brock slept on the floor next to me in case I needed anything. We made it through the night with a couple bathroom trips, some more re-visits of what little food I had eaten, and after a day that would change our lives forever, the recovery began.
On February 14 (of this year, 2013), I had emergency room surgery. I had been feeling a significant pain in my lower right abdomen. Having multiple good reasons to believe that I was not pregnant in any way, shape, or form, I figured it was probably just an ovarian cyst but since it was on the right side went in to get it checked for appendicitis.
After getting a blessing from Brock and our friend Michael, we went to the emergency room and got to the room around 10 am. They started running basic tests and as they pulled us out a couple hours later for an ultra sound, the informed us that I had tested positive for pregnancy. While there was a moment of joy, I knew that there was still something wrong. I was having a lot of pain and was only "9 days" pregnant. They did a couple different kinds of ultra sound and couldn't see any pregnancy, which would be normal for 9 days. So we went back to the room and waited.
The doctor came in and told us that there was a good chance that it was an ectopic pregnancy and that they saw some fluid in my pelvis in the ultra sound but didn't know what kind of fluid it was. He advised he was going to make an appointment with an OB/GYN for me for the next day. However, for insurance purposes, we told him that anything that happened would have to be in the ER, or I'd have to travel to Utah, which I didn't think was a big deal. Within an hour, the on-call OB was next to my bed telling me that the amount of fluid in my pelvis was significant and he wouldn't allow me to travel unless I was in a medical vehicle due to the fact that he didn't know what the fluid was or what was causing it. From there, everything happened very quickly.
He did a further examination and was still unable to determine what was going on inside of me/what was causing it. He said he would need to do a laparoscopic surgery to determine what the fluid was, where it was coming from, and if it was an ectopic pregnancy. Best case scenario would have me in and out of surgery in 45 minutes. We had time to call my mom and give her an update and call Brock's mom and have them both spread the word to our families that we needed prayers going into this surgery, and then the nurses came in and gave me the run down, and they wheeled me off to surgery about 4:15 pm.
Just over four hours later, the surgery ended, and I woke up from the anesthetics. I remember waking up freezing cold. My great nurse put this hose that was attached to my bed in the blankets with me, it was like having a hair drier in bed with you, easily the best part of this process. :) They brought the doctor in to bring me up to speed. It wound up being a worst case scenario. I was in fact 6 weeks pregnant but the baby was stuck in my right fallopian tube. The fallopian tube and ruptured and had been leaking blood into my pelvis that measured 120 cc's after being sucked out (equivalent to 1/2 cup of blood). They discovered endometriosis growing, but it was in the early stages and contained to the right side. The doctor was able to clean all that up and suck out the blood that had leaked into my pelvis, however, the pregnancy and my right fallopian tube could not be saved. The doctor assured me that it was no longer a living pregnancy by the time he got to it. He spent about 45 minutes alone trying to repair my tube, but said when it came down to it, he felt very strongly that he needed to remove it due to the amount of scar tissue that would form because of the extensive damage creating a guaranteed risk of further ectopic pregnancies.
I like to think that I took this update like a champ because I just nodded and said ok, thinking that what's done is done and all I can do is learn from it and move forward. (I was also on a lot of medication, so that could have had something to do with my lack of emotion at the time.) He went out and gave Brock the update. I was not there, but I know he was grateful to hear I was alive as it had been over four hours since I was wheeled from his side for a 45 minute surgery. Dr. Evans then called my mom to explain everything to her per my request so I wouldn't have to, I'm really bad at admitting that I am human and have bodily pains and such, I pretty much bawled just telling her I was thinking about going to the ER. I was then taken to my recovery room.
Brock was there waiting for me. My sweetheart who spent our first Valentine's day as a married couple by my side in the ER/waiting with no answers or updates while I underwent surgery. What a trooper. I laid there for a few hours, trying to eat a little here and there as I hadn't eaten anything other than a pop tart all day. The nurse encouraged me after about an hour and a half to try to walk around. Ha. Ya right, I stood up, walked about 5 steps and threw up everything I had just eaten. Back to bed. There were these horrible horrible pulse things on my ankles that keep you from getting clots that would squeeze my legs and machines that would beep at me any time I got close to falling asleep because I wasn't breathing enough I guess. Talk about torture, I don't like things waking me up, but I REALLY don't like loud buzzing beeping things waking me up, haha. The nurse took them off finally and I was able to sleep for about 45 minutes and it was the best sleep I think I have ever had.
I woke up and told the nurse I was ready to go home. They put me in a wheelchair and my pj's (clever husband to go grab those when he went to fill my prescriptions while I was sleeping) and took me out to the car. Main street in Rexburg is only 25 mph, but I am pretty sure I made Brock drive about 10. We got home, I walked from the street to the door (not without throwing up in the middle of course) and plopped down onto the makeshift bed that Brock had thrown together on the couch for me. (If you've ever seen our bed, you know there is NO WAY I was going to make it into that thing, haha.) It was now about 11:30 pm. We were both exhausted but Brock whipped up some soup for me, cut my pills in half so I could swallow them and let me pick whatever movie I wanted to fall asleep to. (I picked "The Help" because I knew he probably wouldn't ever watch it otherwise, he really liked it.) I fell asleep on the couch and Brock slept on the floor next to me in case I needed anything. We made it through the night with a couple bathroom trips, some more re-visits of what little food I had eaten, and after a day that would change our lives forever, the recovery began.
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