Dudes. My surgery is on Friday. FRIDAY! How did this happen?
Ever since I got my date I’ve been in hyper-list-making mode. Lists for the grocery store, lists for projects around the house I want to finish before the legions of people start traipsing through, lists of things to clean and craft projects to prep and supplies to buy and comfort foods to make and errands to run.
I’ve been scrubbing my house like we’re putting it up for sale. I’m normally extremely anal about house cleaning (Wha? Me? Anal?), in fact, that’s the only thing Bear and I ever fight about, but being disabled due to chronic pelvic pain makes you reexamine your priorites a little bit and I decided that I could stop scrubbing my baseboards with a toothbrush every week, at least until I was healthy.
One of the few good habits I got from my mom is never leaving for vacation without a sparkling clean house. That way you won’t come back to any nasty surprises like moldy laundry or gross smells, but more importantly when your back and needing a vacation from your vacation, the last thing you need is a mountain of dishes also needing your attention. A clean house is relaxing.
So in that spirit I’m back down on my hands and knees ignoring the pain in my back and the dizziness in my head and scrubbing for all I’m worth. For at least the next week I’ll be stuck in my bed aching from head to toe. The last thing I need is a view of dustbunnies in every corner of the house.
On the recovery front, I’m anticipating a week in bed. I know that’s not what the doctor’s necessarily suggest, but the doctors don’t have to relearn every function of their abdominal muscles including pooing. The last time I had a lap the doctor operated on a Thursday so I could be back to work on Monday. Shyeah. That was a bad idea. Every time I bent down to get a file, every time I opened a file drawer, every time I moved as I sat straight up in my office chair with ergonomic back support, my guts screamed at me that I was killing them. At about noon I finally gave in and told my boss I was going home. And then I repeated that scenario every single day that week. I kept thinking that one of those days I’d get better, and yet every day I’d try to lift a box or cough too hard and run home crying.
So this time, my butt is not moving from the bed until at the very least Wednesday, but I’m not doing one dang thing until next Saturday. Mark my words.
Also, I asked Dr. I’mnotlooking about my chances of having a laparotomy instead of a laparoscopy. Since I was diagnosed with Stage III endo at the ripe old age of 23 (it only goes up to IV, and that’s hysterectomy time), and then went on to try to get pregnant for the next few years which meant no birth control pills which meant the endo was growing largely unchecked for four years and was a record breakingly aggressive case, I’m guessing that he’s going to take one look inside me and shudder. The difference between the two surgeries is that the laparoscopy that I’m having on Friday consists of two small insicions and it’s all done with a camera and a cauterizing wire. The laparotomy is where they slice right through my abdomen, open me up, shuffle me around, remove some organs, clean them off, and then try to put everything back where they found it. For some reason Dr. I’mnotlooking won’t do a laparotomy on Friday no matter what he finds. If he determines I need the more aggressive surgery, then he’ll close me up, send me home with all the same pain and symptoms I’ve got now plus the pain of the surgery, and then reschedule me for another day.
As truly crappy as it would be to have to go through this surgery only to go through it again and worse a few weeks later, I’m almost hoping that’s how it turns out. At least if they completely open me up I’ll know that they’re being thorough. No chance a whole mess of endo will be hiding on the back of my stomach or near my spine waiting to screw me over. And since I’m looking at coughing up 10K for a baby, I don’t want to take any chances that this stupid disease could foul that up.
I probably won’t post again before the surgery, too much stuff to clean after all, but I’ll have Bear post afterwards to tell the Internet I’m still alive and kicking.