But oh, what a crazy few days it's been. Let's start at the beginning.
Saturday: I took the Amtrak's regional overnight on Friday, and got into South Station in Boston at 8am on Sunday. My mom picked me up and we went back to Hull to drop my things off, and then decided to go out for a very unhealthy, calorie-laden breakfast. As we were getting ready to walk out the door - around 9am - I realized I needed to call the blood lab to see about my blood results, so I called and they said they'd sent the results in, but couldn't give them to me even though they were my blood results. Fab. So I called my doctor's office, and my doctor said she'd go check the fax machine, seeing as the results came in late the night before.
She calls me back a minute later and says: "Sorry, surgery's off." The last time I was checked for Factor 7, I tested at 40%. I don't know exactly what that means, other than that I was healthy and it was barely an issue, and it pretty much just meant I was a carrier of the gene and nothing else. Well, this time, I tested at 17%. My first reaction was "Oh yay, I'm better!" but this means that I'm worse. Apparently 20% is the severe risk level, and I was, obviously below it. So of course I freaked out.
Yep, crying on the phone, panicking, making an ass of myself. My doctor was very apologetic, but she wanted to be safe, and while I can't blame her, it's quite a punch in the gut. And she didn't know when I could have surgery, which would've meant I would've had to change pretty much all of my plans for the next few months (including getting the fuck out of DC and moving elsewhere.) So my mother gets on the phone and talks logistics with my doctor, and I try not to pass out from anxiety. My doctor says there's still a slim chance surgery could go as planned, but she'd have to get in touch with the hematologist and work out all the issues, and find more Factor 7 to have on hand in the OR. And she's not even sure my hematologist would consent to surgery, seeing as she hasn't seen me in close to 2 years. It was one giant mess.
After we get off the phone, we decide to still go out for breakfast to cheer me up. I pour myself into the car, feeling terrifically sorry for myself (but looking forward to chocolate chip pancakes and hash browns) and we start driving. About a minute later (this is now around 9:30am) my phone rings, and once again it's my doctor's office. I pick up, and my doctor announces: "Surgery's on! I'll see you Monday!"
To say I was shocked was a bit of an understatement. In that half an hour, my doctor had not only gotten hold of the hospital and found more Factor 7, but she'd already talked to my hematologist and they decided that since I have absolutely no history of bleeding, I'll be okay for surgery. With the extra Factor 7 on hand in the OR, I'd be okay in case anything happened. Again, all this in half an hour. So then of course I cried on the phone again, but at least my doctor is a young woman who specializes in women with hormonal insanity, so she was used to it. So, within a half an hour, surgery had been canceled, then was back on, and I was almost insane. At least we ended up going to Stars and eating enough food to feed a small army.
Monday: Surgery day! I woke up at 6am with my mother to go to school with her before surgery. Since they'd bumped me up to an earlier time, we decided to go ahead and do the before school program that my mom does, and then just go right to the hospital from there. And to drop off my rent check along the way, since I was juggling a million things at once when I left and DIDN'T DROP MY CHECK OFF. Sure, it would be in on time since it's not due till the first of the month, but still. Ugh. So at 8am we left for the hospital, and I went right in for blood work. Everything panned out and I changed into one of those super flattering hospital johnnies, and settled in for the long haul. I was supposed to have surgery at 11, but it ended up being closer to noon because of another surgery before mine that had to start late.
I have no memory whatsoever of getting my anesthesia or waking up after surgery (I got my anesthesia in the pre-op area so god only knows when the hell they pulled that one on me) but I do remember waking up an hour or so after surgery, covered by this awesome blanket that was hooked up to a machine that pumped hot air into it, so I constantly stayed warm. This was amazing because the last time I had this surgery, the anesthesia made me so cold that I was shaking and kept hurting my surgery area, and they had to pile, like 8 blankets on me. Oops.
I would've been out of recovery about an hour or so after surgery, but without thinking I said sure to having pain meds pumped into me (twice) and so I ended up spending FOUR HOURS there, while I tried not to puke my brains out. I can't handle any pain meds anymore - no percs, no vicoden's, not even morphine. All of it makes me feel like my stomach has turned itself inside-out and is trying to spew itself forcefully out of my mouth. Sexy.
So, around 6pm my mom and I finally emerged from the hospital. Some retarded new nurse brought us all over the place because he got lost wheeling my wheel chair out to the door (brilliant.) Then, while my mom went out to get the car and bring it round to the door, some crazy, haggard looking woman wandered up to us and asked if we had an extra cigarette. Yes, because a nurse and a chick hunched over in a wheelchair, clutching a pillow and looking like hell, would definitely be toting around packs of cigarettes. Nothing says "smokers!" like scrubs and someone obviously out of surgery.
Anyway, my mom carted me home and put me to bed, and I spent much of that day sleeping and whining and whatnot. I actually felt (much) better than I'd anticipated. Last time, I spent 3 days out flat on my ass, and had a hard time getting up and moving around. This time, it was much easier, and I'm much more mobile. The day after surgery, I could maneuver the stairs without it hurting too much. The surgery itself was far more minimal - rather than thick bands of scar tissue everywhere, and endometrial tissue on nerve endings and stuff, there was only a bit of endometrial tissue on the underside of my uterus. More sexy! At any rate, my reproductive organs are still operating swimmingly, and I'm fine.
Everything in gerneal was pretty fab, really, until late yesterday afternoon, when I realized I was having some bleeding issues. As far as I'm aware, this is considered normal, but given my Factor 7 issues, I'm freaking out a bit. As of yet, I haven't died or anything, and a trip to WebMD said it was normal, but I'm waiting for my doctor to call me back and assure me that I'm okay. Fingers crossed.
At any rate, I feel okay, and I'm definitely getting better. As long as all this blood crap checks out, I'll be good to go!
Saturday: I took the Amtrak's regional overnight on Friday, and got into South Station in Boston at 8am on Sunday. My mom picked me up and we went back to Hull to drop my things off, and then decided to go out for a very unhealthy, calorie-laden breakfast. As we were getting ready to walk out the door - around 9am - I realized I needed to call the blood lab to see about my blood results, so I called and they said they'd sent the results in, but couldn't give them to me even though they were my blood results. Fab. So I called my doctor's office, and my doctor said she'd go check the fax machine, seeing as the results came in late the night before.
She calls me back a minute later and says: "Sorry, surgery's off." The last time I was checked for Factor 7, I tested at 40%. I don't know exactly what that means, other than that I was healthy and it was barely an issue, and it pretty much just meant I was a carrier of the gene and nothing else. Well, this time, I tested at 17%. My first reaction was "Oh yay, I'm better!" but this means that I'm worse. Apparently 20% is the severe risk level, and I was, obviously below it. So of course I freaked out.
Yep, crying on the phone, panicking, making an ass of myself. My doctor was very apologetic, but she wanted to be safe, and while I can't blame her, it's quite a punch in the gut. And she didn't know when I could have surgery, which would've meant I would've had to change pretty much all of my plans for the next few months (including getting the fuck out of DC and moving elsewhere.) So my mother gets on the phone and talks logistics with my doctor, and I try not to pass out from anxiety. My doctor says there's still a slim chance surgery could go as planned, but she'd have to get in touch with the hematologist and work out all the issues, and find more Factor 7 to have on hand in the OR. And she's not even sure my hematologist would consent to surgery, seeing as she hasn't seen me in close to 2 years. It was one giant mess.
After we get off the phone, we decide to still go out for breakfast to cheer me up. I pour myself into the car, feeling terrifically sorry for myself (but looking forward to chocolate chip pancakes and hash browns) and we start driving. About a minute later (this is now around 9:30am) my phone rings, and once again it's my doctor's office. I pick up, and my doctor announces: "Surgery's on! I'll see you Monday!"
To say I was shocked was a bit of an understatement. In that half an hour, my doctor had not only gotten hold of the hospital and found more Factor 7, but she'd already talked to my hematologist and they decided that since I have absolutely no history of bleeding, I'll be okay for surgery. With the extra Factor 7 on hand in the OR, I'd be okay in case anything happened. Again, all this in half an hour. So then of course I cried on the phone again, but at least my doctor is a young woman who specializes in women with hormonal insanity, so she was used to it. So, within a half an hour, surgery had been canceled, then was back on, and I was almost insane. At least we ended up going to Stars and eating enough food to feed a small army.
Monday: Surgery day! I woke up at 6am with my mother to go to school with her before surgery. Since they'd bumped me up to an earlier time, we decided to go ahead and do the before school program that my mom does, and then just go right to the hospital from there. And to drop off my rent check along the way, since I was juggling a million things at once when I left and DIDN'T DROP MY CHECK OFF. Sure, it would be in on time since it's not due till the first of the month, but still. Ugh. So at 8am we left for the hospital, and I went right in for blood work. Everything panned out and I changed into one of those super flattering hospital johnnies, and settled in for the long haul. I was supposed to have surgery at 11, but it ended up being closer to noon because of another surgery before mine that had to start late.
I have no memory whatsoever of getting my anesthesia or waking up after surgery (I got my anesthesia in the pre-op area so god only knows when the hell they pulled that one on me) but I do remember waking up an hour or so after surgery, covered by this awesome blanket that was hooked up to a machine that pumped hot air into it, so I constantly stayed warm. This was amazing because the last time I had this surgery, the anesthesia made me so cold that I was shaking and kept hurting my surgery area, and they had to pile, like 8 blankets on me. Oops.
I would've been out of recovery about an hour or so after surgery, but without thinking I said sure to having pain meds pumped into me (twice) and so I ended up spending FOUR HOURS there, while I tried not to puke my brains out. I can't handle any pain meds anymore - no percs, no vicoden's, not even morphine. All of it makes me feel like my stomach has turned itself inside-out and is trying to spew itself forcefully out of my mouth. Sexy.
So, around 6pm my mom and I finally emerged from the hospital. Some retarded new nurse brought us all over the place because he got lost wheeling my wheel chair out to the door (brilliant.) Then, while my mom went out to get the car and bring it round to the door, some crazy, haggard looking woman wandered up to us and asked if we had an extra cigarette. Yes, because a nurse and a chick hunched over in a wheelchair, clutching a pillow and looking like hell, would definitely be toting around packs of cigarettes. Nothing says "smokers!" like scrubs and someone obviously out of surgery.
Anyway, my mom carted me home and put me to bed, and I spent much of that day sleeping and whining and whatnot. I actually felt (much) better than I'd anticipated. Last time, I spent 3 days out flat on my ass, and had a hard time getting up and moving around. This time, it was much easier, and I'm much more mobile. The day after surgery, I could maneuver the stairs without it hurting too much. The surgery itself was far more minimal - rather than thick bands of scar tissue everywhere, and endometrial tissue on nerve endings and stuff, there was only a bit of endometrial tissue on the underside of my uterus. More sexy! At any rate, my reproductive organs are still operating swimmingly, and I'm fine.
Everything in gerneal was pretty fab, really, until late yesterday afternoon, when I realized I was having some bleeding issues. As far as I'm aware, this is considered normal, but given my Factor 7 issues, I'm freaking out a bit. As of yet, I haven't died or anything, and a trip to WebMD said it was normal, but I'm waiting for my doctor to call me back and assure me that I'm okay. Fingers crossed.
At any rate, I feel okay, and I'm definitely getting better. As long as all this blood crap checks out, I'll be good to go!
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