Three weeks ago, as I drove home from an appointment with Gordon in Cork... I got the most horrible pain in my left side, a ripping pain... a familiar pain, a pain that made my heart sink. I knew that pain only too well, it was the pain of an ovarian cyst rupturing, and in my experience.. anytime I have experienced this pain in the past, it has been followed by emergency surgery. I did not want to have more surgery, in fact... I was prepared to avoid having more surgery at all costs.
I managed to get home, the pain settled after a few hours and while it never went away, it never got any worse. So in my mind, I figured maybe its just going to clear up on its own.
I went to work as normal the next two days, and couldn't understand the puzzled looks I was getting. I think I was oblivious to the pain I was in, power of the mind or something like that, but apparently it was very very obvious to all around me that there was something wrong, and I needed to be getting some medical attention.
I continued as I was for two more days... until midnight on the Saturday. I was home alone as Patrick's band was playing at a wedding and he wouldn't be home til after 3am. It was around midnight when I felt the pain ripping up through my side and I fought it til Patrick came home. I took some painkillers and fell asleep for a few hours. I woke up just after 6am and it was only at that point that I knew I needed to get some help. Even still, I figured I'd call the Caredoc and they'd put me on some antibiotics and I'd be fine in a few days.
I did call the Caredoc, who immediately sent an ambulance. I felt it was a bit 'overkill', but it wasn't long before I was proven very very wrong. The ambulance arrived and I walked out and got into the back and lay on the stretcher. The pain was bad, very bad, but another problem quickly became evident. My blood pressure was very very low, but my heart rate was very very high. This meant that they could not give me any painkillers. The paramedic arranged for an advanced paramedic to meet us en route. He was unable to get an IV line in, as my veins are so bad, So they decided the best course of action was to try some gas and air, and to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.
I struggled with taking the gas and air, I wasn't able to take really deep breaths because the pain was too bad. I managed to get the hang of the breathing and was experiencing some relief from the pain.
Suddenly I felt myself losing consciousness, it felt exactly like being put asleep before an operation. I was out for a few seconds and as I was coming round, I could hear the paramedic talking to me, but it seemed like he was really really far away. I couldn't comprehend what he was saying. It was all very very confusing.
So... we arrived at the hospital and I told the Dr. that I was 99% certain that I had a ruptured cyst. They admitted me and registered me under a gynae team. They put me on 8 hourly pethidine injections, and that really helped with the pain. The following day (Monday), they did an ultrasound scan and decided that it was not a gynae problem and I was passed over to a surgical team. The next day, they did a colonoscopy - which also came back clear. They were supposed to do a CT scan the next day, but due to some processing issues, it didn't happen til the Thursday. The CT scan also came back clear. The Consultant instructed me to fast from midnight and they would decide on a course of action the following morning.
In my heart, I knew this meant surgery. I really did not want more surgery. The surgical consultant came to see me early on Friday morning, and said the words that I did not want to hear 'We need to operate'. I understood, I didn't know how I was feeling, but I understood. I called Patrick and he came to the hospital as quickly as he could. I had to wait a few hours but I was doing ok. In my heart I knew that I was right. I knew it was a ruptured cyst, and I knew that it would just be a routine operation, nothing to worry about. I wasn't really a ball of nerves like I usually am, I really just wanted to get the pain sorted. Even as they wheeled me down to theatre, I was okay. Patrick kissed me and I said 'see ya later', I really was okay, I wasn't worried... it was just routine.
So... I was wrong about that too. It turned out that there was nothing routine about this operation. I was correct about the ruptured cyst... except it wasn't just 'a' ruptured cyst... it was 6 ruptured cysts, my appendix was infected and needed to be removed, they found endometriosis that needed to be burned, and again... both ovaries needed to be burned and drilled. Both the surgical consultant and the gynae consultant were operating on me at the same time.... and then..... then my heart arrested for 24 seconds, and I had to be resuscitated. What should have been a routine 90 minute operation, became a four hour battle in theatre. I was intubated for seven hours and spent that evening in the special care unit. I returned to the ward early the following morning, and was greeted with lots and lots of messages on my phone, very very worried messages from friends who had expected to hear from me immediately after the operation. The next concern was that there was an outbreak of the Norovirus in the hospital, in fact - the ward I was in was currently the only room in the whole hospital that didn't have the virus. I was faced with a decision... do I stay in the hospital for a few days to rest and recover a bit before going home, while risking contracting the Norovirus which would be detrimental to my recovery, or do I go home even though it is way too soon after surgery, but at least I'd be safe from the virus. I decided to go home, and every day since then I have asked myself if I made the right decision.
I was okay for the first few days. Sure, I was in pain and very sore and stiff, but once the anaesthetic really wore off... Good Grief, I genuinely felt like I had been hit by a double-decker bus. Every part of my body actually hurt, it was all so painful. Six days after getting home, Penny jumped on my stomach and burst the stitches in the wound that goes right through my belly-button. The surgeon had told me to be very careful with that wound. It wasn't very secure. The same wound has just been opened and stitched too many times, that the skin just cannot be stitched anymore. This meant a trip to the Caredoc on Friday night, who cleaned the wound and packed it really tight in the hope of stopping the bleeding/seeping. She told me that the wound was infected and prescribed some antibiotics. Unfortunately, the wound has continued to bleed and seep. We have been cleaning it and changing the bandages every few hours in the hope that we can get it to heal. It seems that is all we can do, as it just cannot be stitched.
The following morning I woke up at 4am with the most horrific pain in both of my sides. It felt tight, compressed and I couldn't move. I called Patrick and he came downstairs. We managed to get me into a position where the pain was manageable, but it seemed to me that I was getting worse, rather than better. It turns out that sometimes the ovaries can 'sleep' during anaesthetics, and it can take them a while to wake up, but once they do... you are going to feel them. Anything to do with the ovaries is extremely painful and takes a long time to heal. I remember the ovary pain from the previous times that I have had them burned and drilled, but I don't remember the pain coming on a few days after the operation.
I'm struggling a lot with this recovery. It's been 9 days since the operation, and I am still in a huge amount of pain. Moving hurts. My right side is in absolute bits. The wound in my belly-button is still seeping, but we're keeping on top of it. I am getting a lot of rest and doing what I need to do for myself right now. The fact that I had to have yet more surgery has come as a huge shock, but the realisation of what happened during that operation has scared the life out of me. It has shaken me so badly, and it has shaken everyone that knows me. This is the biggest operation that I have ever had, and yes, it has taken eleven operations for me to realise that I need to put myself first.
So many of my friends have called and messaged over the last 9 days, wanting to visit, and while I hated doing it - I had to tell each and every one of them that I just wasn't able for visitors just yet, I needed another week or so to get myself feeling a bit more human. Every time that I have had surgery in the past, I had visitors straight away and didn't really give myself those initial few days to allow my body to rest. I realised the importance of allowing my body to rest, this time, but aside from that, I just wasn't in a place where I wanted to see people, or maybe that I didn't want them to see me. My body has been through a huge amount of trauma, and for the first time in my life.... I realise just how lucky I am to be here.
