I don’t know why I didn’t post this sooner. Time moves so quickly and it’s easy for days to blend into the next. I wrote this a few days after my procedure, but am posting it now, months later… mind the tense/time frame of the article…
After waiting more than three weeks, I finally had my procedure. Three weeks of restless anxiety. Three weeks of difficulty sleeping, reverting back to old, unhealthy patterns, and troubled thoughts. Waiting it seems, really is agony.
Today Is July 30th. My D&C took place Wednesday, July 25th. I didn’t sleep much the two days prior. On the 23rd, I remained awake until 7:30 am, waking again around 11 am. The night before, I fell asleep around 1 am, and woke around 5 am. Deliberately reading or watching Netflix to keep my mind occupied. Too many thoughts bombarded me before sleep. Too many fears in the dark.
I let J sleep while I showered and tried not to freak out. Odd thing was, my anxiety, though heightened, was less the day of the procedure than in the three weeks prior. When I arrived at the hospital, it lessened even more so.
I met with the nurses, had my vitals taken, briefly met with my doctor. Then I waited again for over two hours before they prepped me for surgery. After another briefing the anesthesiologist engaged in idle chit-chat as she wheeled me to the OR. Glasses were off so I was blind, seeing only blurs of colors. I shifted to the OR table and felt the burning prick of the anesthesia entering my veins through my hand.
It hurt. Burned. Stung. And then came an awful ache that spread outward from my hand and up my left arm.
“This really hurts,” I said. My anesthesiologist started to rub my hand then gently tapped it to diffuse the medication, but her tapping only increased my pain.
“Please, that’s making it worse.” I must have grimaced. A few tears trailed down my cheeks. I felt the edges of sleep and tried to remain still.
“Hold on. I’m going to give you something.”
And she did. Blessedly the burning soothed and my hands once aching and on fire turned numb. The room began to fade.
“Dr. Sanders. Dr. Sanders?” My voice a whisper, wavering in the realm between sleep and consciousness.
“Thank you,” I whispered. Needing her to hear me say it. Darkness took me then, and peace, blankness, nothingness.
I woke with pain in my lower abdomen. Cramping that radiated through my entire pelvic floor. Tears formed and I couldn’t stop my quiet sobs.
“How’s your cramping?” Dr. Sand asked.
“It hurts.” I couldn’t decipher anyone’s face through the blurs of color. “Did everything look okay?”
“I won’t know until the biopsy.”
Biopsy. Another word I dreaded to hear.
I nodded not knowing if Dr. Sanders noticed. I felt a slight squeeze on my hand and was wheeled into another room for recovery.
Please note: Names changed for privacy.