Let me begin by telling you that yesterday was possibly one of the worst days of my life and I've had some real doozies.
I was instructed on Friday evening to eat sweet buggar all on Saturday and to eat nothing at all on both Sunday and Monday as my system had to be empty for my surgery. So being the good girl that I am, I ate nothing but dry toast and broth for three meals on Saturday, and if I never have to eat dry toast again it will be too friggin soon. On Sunday I was instructed to use a pre-operative preparation called picolax. I wont tell you what picolax does but if you really think about it I'm sure you'll figure it out, if not, go ahead and click the link. On Monday I had nothing but water.
Let me just say, that by Monday morning, I was hungry enough to eat the crotch out of a low flying duck. By Monday afternoon, about 15mins before I was due to leave for the hospital I was projectile vomiting the contents of my empty system. Yep, I know how that sounds immensely difficult but believe me, its surprising what you're capable of if you really put your mind to it. By this time I had had a pounder of a migraine since Saturday afternoon (all broth and no protein makes Shevi a grumpy girl) and was already not a happy little camper but the vomiting made the muscles in my stomach (yes I do have some) really sore as well.
So I drag my sorry carcass up to the intervention suite at the hospital and they check me in. I am promptly weighed (ooh look you've lost 4kg since last week aren't you a clever little chook? queue filthy look and thoughts of violence) and then stripped of my dignity by having to wear one of those incredibly sexy theatre gowns...ugh. I am stuck in a hospital bed, have those tight stocking things shoved on my legs and told to sit there and wait it out till the surgeon calls for me. Shouldn't be too long, only two hours left to wait. Obviously I wasn't really stoked about the situation but since I'd been waiting over nine months for this surgery I was prepared to do whatever it took, so I curled up on my side and tried to ignore the fact that my brain was trying to force its way out of my skull through my right temple.
An hour later, still feeling quite sorry for myself (gimme a break here, I've never had surgery before ;oP) my surgeon comes wandering along and says...oh sorry but due to an emergency in the theatre, I cant do your surgery today. I'm not stunned into silence too often (in fact, just try to shut me up), but this was about the last thing I needed or expected to hear. Migraine and pain in my tummy from projectile vomiting aside, I just want my friggin life back mmmkay?
So I lay there stunned while the doctor explains that they've arranged for me to see a different gynaecologist who is prepared to do my surgery as early as Wednesday. My brain is too busy rapidly figuring out the number of extra days I'm going to have to take off TAFE to make up for this major fuck up for me to take it all in and next thing I know, I'm being shoved out the door and told to go down to the obstetrics clinic.
So down I go to sit amongst a number of heavily pregnant women while I wait to see a doctor who will hopefully agree to remove these cysts that have been messing with my fertility and causing me constant pain for more than a year and a half now. Now I dont know if I've mentioned this before, but I'm forty next month and its now too late for me to have the kids I really wanted. Having said that, I still want my health and my libido back so I'm prepared to do what it takes but sometimes its kinda hard to sit there looking at all these enormously pregnant women and keep smiling and telling myself it'll all be alright. Will it? When? And by whose definition? Argh! Anyone think I was unjustified in being slightly pissed off by this time?
So the doctor makes an appointment for me to have yet another transvaginal ultrasound, and if you've never had one of those, you REALLY need to sign yourself up for at least two because the four I've had in the past year and a half have been the highlight of my life. Yes that was sarcasm. If you're a man, be thankful that you will never have to undergo this procedure. I would happily go through a pancreas examination any day than go through another one of those...anyhoo, moving right along. The scans show that I still have a couple of cysts (what? really? you're kidding? and here I was thinking all this pain meant I was having kittens), so the doctor decided it might be best to go ahead and do the surgery tomorrow. Ooh thanks.
So, here I am, finally home, exhausted, sore, feeling decidedly flat after such an anti climatic event and hoping against hope that I get there tomorrow and don't have to go through all of that again. If I do, I believe I might just go postal.
I was instructed on Friday evening to eat sweet buggar all on Saturday and to eat nothing at all on both Sunday and Monday as my system had to be empty for my surgery. So being the good girl that I am, I ate nothing but dry toast and broth for three meals on Saturday, and if I never have to eat dry toast again it will be too friggin soon. On Sunday I was instructed to use a pre-operative preparation called picolax. I wont tell you what picolax does but if you really think about it I'm sure you'll figure it out, if not, go ahead and click the link. On Monday I had nothing but water.
Let me just say, that by Monday morning, I was hungry enough to eat the crotch out of a low flying duck. By Monday afternoon, about 15mins before I was due to leave for the hospital I was projectile vomiting the contents of my empty system. Yep, I know how that sounds immensely difficult but believe me, its surprising what you're capable of if you really put your mind to it. By this time I had had a pounder of a migraine since Saturday afternoon (all broth and no protein makes Shevi a grumpy girl) and was already not a happy little camper but the vomiting made the muscles in my stomach (yes I do have some) really sore as well.
So I drag my sorry carcass up to the intervention suite at the hospital and they check me in. I am promptly weighed (ooh look you've lost 4kg since last week aren't you a clever little chook? queue filthy look and thoughts of violence) and then stripped of my dignity by having to wear one of those incredibly sexy theatre gowns...ugh. I am stuck in a hospital bed, have those tight stocking things shoved on my legs and told to sit there and wait it out till the surgeon calls for me. Shouldn't be too long, only two hours left to wait. Obviously I wasn't really stoked about the situation but since I'd been waiting over nine months for this surgery I was prepared to do whatever it took, so I curled up on my side and tried to ignore the fact that my brain was trying to force its way out of my skull through my right temple.
An hour later, still feeling quite sorry for myself (gimme a break here, I've never had surgery before ;oP) my surgeon comes wandering along and says...oh sorry but due to an emergency in the theatre, I cant do your surgery today. I'm not stunned into silence too often (in fact, just try to shut me up), but this was about the last thing I needed or expected to hear. Migraine and pain in my tummy from projectile vomiting aside, I just want my friggin life back mmmkay?
So I lay there stunned while the doctor explains that they've arranged for me to see a different gynaecologist who is prepared to do my surgery as early as Wednesday. My brain is too busy rapidly figuring out the number of extra days I'm going to have to take off TAFE to make up for this major fuck up for me to take it all in and next thing I know, I'm being shoved out the door and told to go down to the obstetrics clinic.
So down I go to sit amongst a number of heavily pregnant women while I wait to see a doctor who will hopefully agree to remove these cysts that have been messing with my fertility and causing me constant pain for more than a year and a half now. Now I dont know if I've mentioned this before, but I'm forty next month and its now too late for me to have the kids I really wanted. Having said that, I still want my health and my libido back so I'm prepared to do what it takes but sometimes its kinda hard to sit there looking at all these enormously pregnant women and keep smiling and telling myself it'll all be alright. Will it? When? And by whose definition? Argh! Anyone think I was unjustified in being slightly pissed off by this time?
So the doctor makes an appointment for me to have yet another transvaginal ultrasound, and if you've never had one of those, you REALLY need to sign yourself up for at least two because the four I've had in the past year and a half have been the highlight of my life. Yes that was sarcasm. If you're a man, be thankful that you will never have to undergo this procedure. I would happily go through a pancreas examination any day than go through another one of those...anyhoo, moving right along. The scans show that I still have a couple of cysts (what? really? you're kidding? and here I was thinking all this pain meant I was having kittens), so the doctor decided it might be best to go ahead and do the surgery tomorrow. Ooh thanks.
So, here I am, finally home, exhausted, sore, feeling decidedly flat after such an anti climatic event and hoping against hope that I get there tomorrow and don't have to go through all of that again. If I do, I believe I might just go postal.
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