Apologies for the radio silence. I’ve been caught up in a whirlwind of lethargy since my last operation the other day. My next surgery has crept up on me and is now tomorrow, so I wanted to shoehorn in an update before going back under.
As I mentioned previously, the next stage of my treatment was a rummage around under general anaesthetic (an Examination Under Anaesthetic and Laparoscopy). Billed as an overnight stay in hospital, this actually turned into a three day stint as I ended up needing a blood transfusion which trundled on until 1 am.
The documentation suggests that a week of recovery should be sufficient, but after that time I was still feeling convincingly like someone had beaten me up. My nurse reassured me that people often take around two weeks to recover from the laparoscopy in actual fact, which made me feel like less of a weakling.
Since then, I have been doing some enjoyable activities, including going to a wedding where I managed to do a reading without tripping over – or forgetting how to read English. And of course I have been watching a lot of embarrassingly low-quality TV programmes (Pretty Little Liars? The Hills? Sure…).
After all the waiting, we will find out what surgery is necessary tomorrow when they carry it out. The previous examination suggested that this ‘pelvic mass’ – which is causing all the fuss – might be able to be removed without affecting any other organs. However, that is not definite. There are several possible outcomes, depending on what happens on the table.
When I wake up, I will have been pruned to some extent. The least amount would be taking out both ovaries, which might be all that the mass is touching. There are a spectrum of further possibilities, depending on what it is or isn’t touching. We have been prepped for having a stoma if it is stuck onto any part of my bowel, requiring it to be removed also. They would then work some surgical magic that makes a new exit hole (stoma) for my number twos. As I write, I have two blobs felt-tip penned onto my tum to show where that would be if it happens. Though this is an intimidating prospect, we have been reassured by a wonderful nurse who has taken us through lots of info about it. There are even some positives, such as the fact that any trumps would come out through a slow release, deodorised valve. Meaning my farts would smell like roses – not that I ever do any, of course.
So, we educate ourselves about the worst and hope for the best. Time will tell what the next step really is; for now all we can do is pack a good hospital bag and load up some entertaining rubbish on the iPad.
Oh, and wish my boyfriend happy birthday for tomorrow – what a delightful coincidence.