I had my return visit to the Gynea Clinic last Thursday. An appointment I was both looking forward to and dreading in equal measures. I was hoping and praying that they’d listen to and accept my request for a laparoscopy but was mentally preparing myself for the usual ‘well, we’ll wait and see what happens in another two, three, four, six months… Leave you in agony and watch you suffer’ like my consultant did last time around. Imagine my surprise when I only had to give a relatively brief (well, for me) explanation when I was actually offered the operation. In less than two months time. Which for most Gynea clinics is practically like an emergency.
They’re going to look for Endometriosis, remove the rogue coil and if they find a small amount of endo or any small adhesions (sticking of any internal parts to other internal parts) they’re going to remove and un-stick. If there’s more than a small amount, then it’s down to the surgeon whether it’s removed there and then or if I’m referred to the specialist womens hospital around 10 miles away. If they decide to remove it there and then, then I’ll have to be admitted as an in-patient. Or if it looks like it’s still the adenomyosis, then I’ll be referred.
I swear last time round, I was messed around and fobbed off so much. It was like my Gynecologist was a sort of sadistic freak who got his kicks from seeing women in absolute agony and not taking them seriously; or making them feel as though they’re acting melodramatically and seeking attention; or that the pain is all in their heads and it’s just normal to be in so much agony for three weeks out of four, you’re throwing your guts up on a regular basis and becoming dehydrated. On Thursday when I told the lady Gynecologist that the previous one told me I was cured when I got pregnant – she actually rolled her eyes and pulled an expression that said very clearly ‘how many times have I heard that before…’.
It’s almost as though there’s been massive changes in the last decade. I certainly hope this is the case. I mean, last time I had over two years of regular appointments before they considered accepting my repeated requests for a laparoscopy. This time round – I’ve been offered a lap after just two appointments. I know it’s not the answer or a cure – but for anyone with Endo or suspected Endo – it’s like a dream come true. It’s a way of finding out what the hell is happening inside your stomach. It’s evidence that you’re being taken extremely seriously. That the Dr’s know and understand you’re in pain and how much pain you’re in.
The only issue will be care for the monsters immediately after the operation in August. The MiL is having some time away at the coast with one of her nieces (pre-booked and no way am I stopping her holibobs – that would almost be like letting the endo rule everyone elses life other than just mine and that is just not happening) and the hubby is running out of holiday entitlement at work. Luckily he’s on his early shift which means I’ll only have to get them up and dressed etc – which they can themselves more or less – and breakfast in the summer is nearly always fruit anyway. My mum will no doubt help out as much as she can – and my crazy fancy dress lady friend is also offering to help – but I hate depending on others too much.
The other thing is that my 40 mile walk from Cleethorpes to Skegvegas is having to be postponed as well – as the Lap is scheduled for the same day. The charity have been amazing about it when I let them know yesterday – to the point of offering me lots of support pre and post op as well. Which is absolutely amazing. Beyond anything I expected to be honest.
Anyway, back with the present. The male shaped monster has been a little sausage over the last few days. He doesn’t take to heat very well at all – it turns him manic. He won’t settle, won’t listen and is always grumpy and in a bad mood. We went to a film club on Saturday – and he went from crying uncontrollably because they didn’t have the blue slush puppy’s ready to running around with my friends demons like a lunatic to hiding underneath a table at the back of the cinema and refusing to come out. He won’t sleep or go to bed unless we promise him he can make a den the following evening and this morning he thumped me several times because I said no to sweets.
The female shaped monster has just completed her SATs (unsure still if I like the idea of a seven year old sitting an exam) and is turning into more of a diva day by day. She’s appearing in a school production at the end of the school year – but I swear – if I hear one more song from the play between now and then, I may explode. Violently. She’s also been invited to dine at the top-table at the end of last half term at school for her excellent behaviour in school. Which makes me wonder why she’s so blooming stroppy at home.
Later on today, I’m embarking into town for a beautiful limited edition designer handmade dress. She’s a new up and coming designer and rarely does any sizes bigger than an 8-10, so I’m incredibly privileged that she made me one when I asked about it in a size 12-14. I’m also in bloody agony – pain in my right kidney radiating to the usual stabbing and burning pain everywhere else. I’ve had to take a strong pain killer this morning it’s that severe. Not had to take a strong painkiller for the last few days – and then only in the evening.
Oh well, on the bright side, I’ve got less than two months until the surgery. Keeping my fingers crossed they can actually do something this time.
Diary Of A Faker 