It feels like I have been gone from my blog world forever. I must say it is lovely to be back in the land of the living.
It has been a week of drifting in and out of the sleepy unconsciousness and then fleeting moments of catching up with the boys. I suppose the after affects of post surgery and pain meds will do that to one. Today is the first day I can actually pull myself up without having to croak for someone to help me out of bed and steady me to the loo.
So then, the story behind what was in essence supposed to be a simple 45 minute surgical procedure – with the hopes of finding what we all assumed would result in the concluded diagnosis as Endometriosis…. well now… lets just say ended up being 3 hours of absolute chaos. I obviously was totally unaware, at the time, of all of this but when listening to Rob rehash the story it sounded like my poor fella went through something close to hell?
One would presume that when “professional’’ doctors diagnose you and you trust their word that all should be fine, right? They are here to help you, and where they can – medically fix you? I’m sure there is an oath they take somewhere before they become all professional and can legal write the “Dr.” before their name??
This all started in the beginning of the year when Rob and I found out we were pregnant, not just with one baby but two! I remember that time to be one of much excitement. Especially when we had gotten over the shock of carrying twins. Our fault could have been that we moved from one gynae to another for medical aid and financial reasons. But surely we should not have to blame ourselves for moving from one doctor to another. I also preferred to have a woman gynae rather than a man for my own personal reasons. Well, what a huge mistake. By the end of March we had miscarried and in April advised that it would be best to move the healing process along by having the foetuses surgically removed. This is not uncommon and all would be well and we could start fresh.
Since the procedure I never restarted my menses and as each month passed where my monthly visit would have been there was only debilitating cramps. I was shunted from one doctor to another in the hopes that there would be answers – surely this was not normal. But, all the answers we would get were, “it takes time for your body to heal”. Surely healing would mean that you were getting better? Not finding every month being a downward uncontrollable spiral and eventually being incapable of moving and becoming one with your bed so as to deal with the pain. How could this be normal?
Last week was the worst of all the months before…
Sometimes one has to step back and forget what the prescribed medical covers and look beyond. And with tail between my legs and limp from the pain went back to my original doctors. I would like to say I may have gotten to the right doctor just in the nick of time, but, sadly I cant – just yet. I am now one fallopian tube short and there are still parts of my uterus that are in question. When they initially removed our foetuses (which they do with forceps-like-gadgets) my right fallopian tube was pulled inside out resulting (over the months) in it growing back into my uterus wall. When I was supposed to be having my monthly menses instead of bleeding out the “normal” way it was running into my stomach. Not very pretty at all but that’s how it went.
And now here we are. Me in bed healing up from another surgery and a presumed one again in a months time. Me deep in thought.. could this have been prevented? And if so how could this have been prevented? Is there a fault here.. is there someone to blame? I am still reeling and I think I may be mourning? I’m not too sure yet….
But what I do know is that Rob and our gynae are furious and would prefer I don’t become another statistic… because in the end that’s exactly what will happen.
To all our dearest friends and beloved family thank you all for the healing vibes sent our way and for all patience as we slowly get our heads around the whole ordeal.