Just a quick fix
Originally written June/July 2014
It turns out that my side of our fertility goals could easily be enhanced with a couple of simple surgeries. "It's just an easy laparoscopic surgery through your belly button..." he said. (still on our first meeting)
Okay. Ignorance is not a great thing, generally speaking. But. Ignorance is bliss when it comes to what things will really be like in a medical sense...and really, really in an IVF journey sense...
I was completely unprepared to be moving so fast on appointment number one. I had big plans for summer. We were going to swim and vacation and have fun, city [indoor] adventures. I was also going to take full advantage of my last summer of available childcare (me time, me time, me time, me time!).
I guess fertility doctors assume that by the time you finally seek their care and guidance, you are ready to be pregnant, like, tomorrow. He sat down on day one, laid out the entire process from start to finish, identified the first road block, and detoured the plan to accommodate surgeries and recovery. I was then scheduled for surgery that day set for 3 days later.
Whoa.
I have been under anesthesia once, probably for about 10 minutes, while they cut my wisdom teeth out of my head in high school.
The hospital makes you sign a series of scary forms saying you understand that the doctor can stab up your organs, or even kill you while he's in there.
As I've aged, I worry more about my mortality and going under for 3-5 hours seemed serious. I even told the truth about my weight (they weigh you anyway) so that the anesthesiologist knew exactly how much to give to knock me out...but not forever. I asked him if he ate lunch, if he felt rested, made sure he knew I worked out a lot in case that did something to metabolize medication faster? When he asked if I had anymore questions, I very seriously and really meant it said, "No. But, Please. Don't kill me."
Then my doctor came in and explained the process again, and I went through the battery of concerns with him as well. No offense to fertility doctors, but he's not even a surgeon. I did not have the highest confidence.
Was I annoying? Probably. Did my hair look fabulous? Yes.
That morning, to take the edge off and forget about the fact that I could not eat or drink anything until that evening (yes, surgery at 2 PM is awesome for the no eating/drinking rule) I went to drybar to make sure I was viewing ready in case I did not wake up. The guy was so nice and probably the first straight guy I have ever had there and I confided in him that I was to go under the knife later that day. When he asked why, I lied and said a sports hernia. (What?! Why?...I'm a loser) He was like, oh you do some Crossfit action or something? So embarrassing. Clearly, I do not do Crossfit.
Too bad, they make you put that mushroom cap on because the hair looked good...check.
Goal #1 of surgery = wake up.
I went to some swanky surgical place in Southlake. So fancy, in fact, that it does not take insurance. It took me until 8 PM to finally wake up because I was so comfortable. Pumped up with drugs, under a heated blanket in a frigid room, the bed and pillows propped perfectly...conditions were ideal.
I really did try to wake up and remember doing this because I was trying to be adorable to the nurses walking by. I was eating up every "Honey", "Baby", "Sweetie" from my nurses. Even in a drug induced state, I like approval and to be cared for like a child.
V was the one to spoil that party when they let him come back and he treated me like some overstayed patient he was trying to discharge.
Mother's Day does only comes once a year, I suppose.
Goal #2 of surgery= Do not take the heavy drugs unless absolutely necessary.
I have this thing about taking medication. I try not to unless it's really needed. My reasoning is, when and if I do need to take medication, I want it to work.
I was slightly misled as the nurse told me she hadn't given me anything post surgery. She failed to tell me I was pumped full of drugs in surgery (which I guess I should have known)...
I was thinking, awesome. I'm going to be able to take Tylenol or something.
That night when everything wore off, it was clear I had underestimated how simple a laparoscopic surgery was. I decided to ask V some more detailed questions. He was like, yeah, they still cut through your muscles. I really misunderstood what was going to happen. I finally had the courage to look and sure enough, not only had he gone through my belly button, he stabbed me in three other places. Well, that escalated quickly. Tylenol was certainly not enough, but I made it enough anyway. I was a gimp for a couple of days, but was determined to be stronger every day. I thought very seriously about selling my Hydrocodone. Someone has to pay for IVF. My students told me the going rate could be $10-$15 a pill! I realized, though, I didn't know the first thing about drug dealing. Where would I go? Who do you talk to? I would have ended up in prison and I still have no plan for survival in prison! We gave them to Parkland, USA instead. I'm sure that person who said he'd take it to the right place, did...right to his car...
I made the mistake of telling Alex I couldn't lift him until my boo boos healed. He still lifts my shirt up to check and even though now it's just scars, tries to tell me I still can't lift him up. It's adorable.*
Goal #3 of surgery = don't have another surgery.
Well, I did. But it was easier and there was no cutting.
Was it worth it? Time will tell.
The worst part about everything has been cutting back the working out. I was given a list of things I could no longer do during this whole IVF thing and my mental well being suffered for awhile. The best way for me to let of steam in the past was to work out so hard, I felt like my heart was going to bust right out...through my ears. That was somehow really therapeutic for me.
I've had to adjust and find ways to clear my head, but it's all a work in progress. I really miss that Serotonin high.
*Things changed...quite quickly, actually, and he has no problems asking to be picked up and carried.
It turns out that my side of our fertility goals could easily be enhanced with a couple of simple surgeries. "It's just an easy laparoscopic surgery through your belly button..." he said. (still on our first meeting)
Okay. Ignorance is not a great thing, generally speaking. But. Ignorance is bliss when it comes to what things will really be like in a medical sense...and really, really in an IVF journey sense...
I was completely unprepared to be moving so fast on appointment number one. I had big plans for summer. We were going to swim and vacation and have fun, city [indoor] adventures. I was also going to take full advantage of my last summer of available childcare (me time, me time, me time, me time!).
I guess fertility doctors assume that by the time you finally seek their care and guidance, you are ready to be pregnant, like, tomorrow. He sat down on day one, laid out the entire process from start to finish, identified the first road block, and detoured the plan to accommodate surgeries and recovery. I was then scheduled for surgery that day set for 3 days later.
I have been under anesthesia once, probably for about 10 minutes, while they cut my wisdom teeth out of my head in high school.
The hospital makes you sign a series of scary forms saying you understand that the doctor can stab up your organs, or even kill you while he's in there.
As I've aged, I worry more about my mortality and going under for 3-5 hours seemed serious. I even told the truth about my weight (they weigh you anyway) so that the anesthesiologist knew exactly how much to give to knock me out...but not forever. I asked him if he ate lunch, if he felt rested, made sure he knew I worked out a lot in case that did something to metabolize medication faster? When he asked if I had anymore questions, I very seriously and really meant it said, "No. But, Please. Don't kill me."
Then my doctor came in and explained the process again, and I went through the battery of concerns with him as well. No offense to fertility doctors, but he's not even a surgeon. I did not have the highest confidence.
Was I annoying? Probably. Did my hair look fabulous? Yes.
That morning, to take the edge off and forget about the fact that I could not eat or drink anything until that evening (yes, surgery at 2 PM is awesome for the no eating/drinking rule) I went to drybar to make sure I was viewing ready in case I did not wake up. The guy was so nice and probably the first straight guy I have ever had there and I confided in him that I was to go under the knife later that day. When he asked why, I lied and said a sports hernia. (What?! Why?...I'm a loser) He was like, oh you do some Crossfit action or something? So embarrassing. Clearly, I do not do Crossfit.
Too bad, they make you put that mushroom cap on because the hair looked good...check.
 |
| Surgery Selfie |
Goal #1 of surgery = wake up.
I went to some swanky surgical place in Southlake. So fancy, in fact, that it does not take insurance. It took me until 8 PM to finally wake up because I was so comfortable. Pumped up with drugs, under a heated blanket in a frigid room, the bed and pillows propped perfectly...conditions were ideal.
I really did try to wake up and remember doing this because I was trying to be adorable to the nurses walking by. I was eating up every "Honey", "Baby", "Sweetie" from my nurses. Even in a drug induced state, I like approval and to be cared for like a child.
V was the one to spoil that party when they let him come back and he treated me like some overstayed patient he was trying to discharge.
Mother's Day does only comes once a year, I suppose.
Goal #2 of surgery= Do not take the heavy drugs unless absolutely necessary.
I have this thing about taking medication. I try not to unless it's really needed. My reasoning is, when and if I do need to take medication, I want it to work.
I was slightly misled as the nurse told me she hadn't given me anything post surgery. She failed to tell me I was pumped full of drugs in surgery (which I guess I should have known)...
I was thinking, awesome. I'm going to be able to take Tylenol or something.
That night when everything wore off, it was clear I had underestimated how simple a laparoscopic surgery was. I decided to ask V some more detailed questions. He was like, yeah, they still cut through your muscles. I really misunderstood what was going to happen. I finally had the courage to look and sure enough, not only had he gone through my belly button, he stabbed me in three other places. Well, that escalated quickly. Tylenol was certainly not enough, but I made it enough anyway. I was a gimp for a couple of days, but was determined to be stronger every day. I thought very seriously about selling my Hydrocodone. Someone has to pay for IVF. My students told me the going rate could be $10-$15 a pill! I realized, though, I didn't know the first thing about drug dealing. Where would I go? Who do you talk to? I would have ended up in prison and I still have no plan for survival in prison! We gave them to Parkland, USA instead. I'm sure that person who said he'd take it to the right place, did...right to his car...
 |
| Sorry, this sure is TMI. That's not fat at all, it's a lot of swelling and the surgery destroyed my six-pack abs, too! :( |
I made the mistake of telling Alex I couldn't lift him until my boo boos healed. He still lifts my shirt up to check and even though now it's just scars, tries to tell me I still can't lift him up. It's adorable.*
Goal #3 of surgery = don't have another surgery.
Well, I did. But it was easier and there was no cutting.
Was it worth it? Time will tell.
The worst part about everything has been cutting back the working out. I was given a list of things I could no longer do during this whole IVF thing and my mental well being suffered for awhile. The best way for me to let of steam in the past was to work out so hard, I felt like my heart was going to bust right out...through my ears. That was somehow really therapeutic for me.
I've had to adjust and find ways to clear my head, but it's all a work in progress. I really miss that Serotonin high.
*Things changed...quite quickly, actually, and he has no problems asking to be picked up and carried.
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