The hysterectomy story: An adventure in two parts

Page 2: The story continues…

Surgery day 1: Thursday, August 28

The moment I stepped into the hospital elevator to go up to the OR level, a news bulletin buzzed on my phone. It said Joan Rivers was in serious condition after she stopped breathing during surgery. Until that moment, I hadn’t really considered the possibility of anything along those lines… but quickly decided it was too late to worry about it.

Around 10am

As they ushered me back into the surgery prep area, I saw that the waiting area wasn’t the only thing that had been remodeled, but everything was new. They told me that the operating suite had only opened two days before, and I might even be the first patient in one of the operating rooms. But of course — only the finest for my uterus.

After I changed into my gown and slip-resistant socks, and had my vitals checked, blood drawn and IV placed, my gynecologist and the anesthesiologist stopped by.

I had two requests of the anesthesiologist: please tell me when you’re going to knock me out (don’t just say, “You will probably start to feel sleepy,” because that’s not the same thing), and that most typical narcotic pain relievers didn’t help me, so I would need something else post-op. He seemed to understand.

There’s a vague memory of arriving in the OR, but then I remember nothing else until I heard some voices a few hours later in the recovery room.

The very first thing I remember after the surgery was hearing voices sort of roar into range, and could hear my doctor tell someone that they didn’t take my cervix. Moments later, I noticed the pain, and found myself saying “ow” over and over — but quietly. Then I must have zonked out again, since the next thing I recall is being in my room.

Charlotte, Betsy and one of Betsy’s daughters were there waiting for me. I wasn’t much of a conversationalist. I think I was still saying “ow,” and was just trying to get through the pain as much as I could.

I was feeling miserable, and then something very surprising happened when my daughter took my hand. Instantly, my pain level felt like it had been cut in half, and stayed lower for several minutes before gradually returning to the previous level. Although I believe there’s power in positive thinking, this was something else entirely (plus I was hardly thinking warm fuzzy thoughts at the time). Even though I love that girl to pieces, I never expected her touch to affect me in such a physical way.

Because I was so wiped out from the anesthesia, I kept dropping off to sleep… and sometimes would skip a breath or two. That would set off the (loud) oxygen saturation alarm, which would jolt me awake. Although the process did get my breathing started, it also meant I momentarily clenched my abs… part of what had been cut apart and sewn back together hours before. So, every time that happened, my abdomen would go into a series of really painful spasms. I had to break out my old childbirth class skills to relax and breathe through the pain.

This cycle was repeated over and over for the next couple hours, and was delightfully entertaining for us all.

The room I’d been assigned was absolutely tiny, and completely dominated by my bed. Since I had three visitors, every time a doctor or nurse came in, everyone had to play musical chairs to give him or her enough space to walk.

My oldest daughter stayed all night with me, in an uncomfortable semi-reclining chair. I only woke her up once, when I finally lost it in the middle of the night. It was one thing to deal with the surgical pain, but then it got to the point where my bladder felt like it was going to explode… and I couldn’t handle all of the overwhelming sensations hitting me at once. There were tears.

The nurse assured me twice that the catheter was working, and then finally noticed that — oops — the tube had become kinked and wasn’t emptying. Once she had it draining again, about 24 ounces of urine exited. (Normal bladder capacity is around 16 ounces.)

Getting that fixed was a huge relief, but the ache lasted several more hours, until I finally could get up (with help) and walked very slowly to the bathroom.

Once morning came, they unhooked the pain pump (which took two nurses about 15 minutes to document and disconnect because it was dispensing a controlled substance). Only then was I allowed the medication that worked for me: tramadol and ibuprofen. Seriously — after about 30 minutes, was like a whole new person. A much nicer person.

A couple hours later, I was normal enough that the the nurses started to become adamant that I get up and get walking. Twice that day I shuffled along the halls with my IV pole in tow for about fifteen minutes. It was ridiculously exhausting, but also very liberating.

Nancy at 5:47am (Facebook)

Update: Started solid food yesterday, and began taking solo trips (dragging IV pole) to the restroom a few hours ago. Progress!

Slept several hours, aided by earplugs. Will probably be here until tomorrow (Sunday). Might be up for visitors this afternoon!

Surgery notes: Fibroid was larger and oddly-shaped, taking a bit longer than usual to sort out. Still have my cervix (vascular issues) and ovaries (hoped to keep). Pathology report next week. Incision looks good they say. Intestines still sluggish, though.

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