My Flight Plan
In preparation of the birth of my first son, I worked with my amazing doula and came up with My Birth Plan. I had it typed out and everything. I even printed out several copies, as suggested, to present to both the nursing staff and midwife at the hospital - that way everyone would be on the same page regarding what I did and didn’t want during my labor and delivery process.
I wanted no continued monitoring, no unnecessary internal checks, no IV, and free range to walk around or bounce on my birthing ball as much as possible. No drugs, no one telling me when to push, and definitely NO surgery.
I’m cracking up just typing this. Because, as most of you probably already know, no one can plan for what happens during labor and delivery.
NO ONE.
As I was nearing my 42nd week of pregnancy (yup, 42nd), I went in for a checkup and they found dangerously low amniotic fluid. From there, I was induced, labored for almost 48 hours to inevitably end in an emergency c-section. And, as an added F&%$ YOU bonus, I was put under general anesthesia because my body wasn’t responding to the epidural and I could feel everything in my right lower quadrant.
Ironically enough, what I had not actually prepared for was the fact that I would not be in control. Funny how that happens, right?
Control. Such a simple word, a simple concept, that I have struggled with for most of my adult life. If you read through any of my previous blog entries, you will find a common thread through all of them. My strong desire to control coupled with my absolute inability to do so.
Back in 2019, when my OB found my uterine tumor and removed it, she knew that a hysterectomy was in my future. However, given my still-undiagnosed neurological issues, she did not yet want to put my body through a major surgery so she waited. And then COVID happened.
It wasn’t until April 2021 that my OB performed my hysterectomy. Unfortunately, she was not quite prepared with what she would find. Endometriosis (scar tissue most likely caused by the several abdominal surgeries I had already undergone) had spread throughout my abdominal cavity. She was successful at removing my uterus and fallopian tubes. However, the scar tissue was so severe that my cervix was now fused to my bladder. Removing it would cause serious trauma to my bladder as well as raise the risk of hemorrhaging. So she had to leave the cervix intact knowing full well that a future surgery was imminent.
Being as since this was “one of the worst” hysterectomies my doctor had performed and only the 2nd time she was unable to remove the cervix, I should not have been surprised at the abnormal recovery time. For the first 2 weeks, I was unable to stand for more than 20 minutes at a time. For the first 4 weeks, I couldn’t walk for longer than the length of my driveway. And anytime I attempted to return to normal activities within the first 8 weeks, I would bleed and cramp so much that I was forced to go back to bed.
At my 2-week post-op appointment, my doctor showed me pictures she had taken during the procedure. To my untrained eyes, my abdominal cavity had now turned into a scene from a horror film. Cobwebs (aka endometriosis) had attached itself to everything, skewing the visible field. Every little dissection had caused an abnormal amount of bleeding. My slow recovery time was now explained through a series of disturbing images.
When my painful cramps and continuous bleeding had not subsided by 10-weeks post-op, my doctor suggested I begin Pelvic Floor Physical Therapy. Be thankful if you have never experienced this form of therapy. It was one hour, once a week, of massaging the scars caused by my c-sections and my hysterectomy to break away the adhesions, as well as manipulating my internal muscles to allow for less spasms.
In short, this weekly session felt like torture. Torture that I paid a tidy $35 copay for.
Truthfully, I was hopeful that these weekly sessions would allow me to return to my “normal” lifestyle. Back to exercising 4 days per week and running errands without fatigue. Back to keeping up with my boys and their never-ending energy. However, after almost 2 months of sessions, my symptoms had only worsened.
Enter my gynecologic oncologist who, after looking through the images and notes from my OB, informed me that it was time to prepare for another surgery. My endometriosis is now stage IV - it has spread throughout my abdomen, including my bowels.
““Consider this a benign cancer that is spreading rapidly and must be removed.””
In preparation for this upcoming surgery, she asked me to begin monthly Lupron Depot injections. Essentially these hormones would put my body into medically-induced menopause, slow the spread of scar tissue, curb the inflammation, and overall allow for a less risky surgery.
So now, along with the anxiety that comes with preparing for a major surgery, working, mom’ing, and day to day adventures, my body was experiencing symptoms of menopause: hot flashes (head to toe sweating within a matter of seconds followed by cold chills), heart palpitations, arthritis, pre-diabetic glucose levels, and extreme fatigue.
At my pre-op appointment, I was hoping for more concrete details of my surgery - answers to my many questions, such as:
“Will I be hospitalized following the procedure and if so, how long?”
“Will I be leaving the hospital with a foley catheter?”
“Will you be performing a bowel resection?”
“Will you be removing my ovaries, thus sending my body into permanent menopause?”
These are just a few of my many questions that, unfortunately, my doctor could not answer. You see, endometriosis is a very tricky condition. Since it is my own natural tissue growing, as opposed to a foreign tissue, it can be much harder to spot on scans. For instance, I had a pelvic ultrasound as well as an abdominal MRI and both came back “normal”. So this aspect makes it very difficult to know exactly what’s going on.
In the words of my doctor:
“It is controlled chaos. I prepare for the worst-case scenario every time and hope it doesn’t come to that.”
In true Christine fashion, I planned and prepared for worst-case scenario. My surgery was scheduled for December 13th, a week and a half before Christmas. Therefore I had all of my Christmas shopping completed and all presents wrapped under the tree prior to my surgery. I did all the loads of laundry, washed everyone’s sheets, and even prepared our guest room for upcoming family visits. I prepared everything I could tangibly prepare for.
“My flight plan was all mapped out. In my small, human hands, I was prepared for it all... forgetting that my small, human hands hold very little control in the matter.”
#faithoverfear
My surgery was a huge success. Given the fact that I had gone through 3 months of hormones in preparation, my doctor was able to easily “peel” my cervix away from my bladder without any trauma. No catheter needed! My ovaries looked great and neither needed removal! She found a large mass attached to my intestines/colon and was able to easily remove it without the need of a bowel resection! She was able to burn away and remove all traces of scar tissue and adhesions she found without losing more than 2 tbsp. blood. And to top it all off, I was released that same day and was resting comfortably in my own bed at home by 7:30 pm.
Success.
“All of my worrying and prepping and planning for worst-case scenario was in vain as best-case scenario trumped.”
I don’t regret all of the preparing I did ahead of time - for the first time in FOREVER, all of my Christmas shopping/wrapping was done prior to Christmas Eve! However I am aware of the energy and tears I lost over the worrying. Because, really, how can you prepare for life-changing experiences? We can pack our hospital bag and fill the freezer with meals and situate childcare and take time off work. We can work ourselves into a frenzy and it still wouldn’t be enough.
I’m learning to roll with the punches and expect the unexpected… and I truly think I’m a better person for it.
