Laparoscopy!!

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.

What else?

So what have I been up to for the last week and a half or so other than being a clumsy cow and getting big stress hair?  Well, the answer would be, not much.

Really!  I’ve done hardly anything.  I’m trying out a new diet of two bowls of cereal a day and then a balanced and healthy meal for six days a week and a rest day.  So far, so good.  I haven’t particularly noticed any weight loss or felt any different, but that could purely be down to my period starting and being a particularly bad one (come to think of it, that probably answers why I was getting annoyed at the bands).  My stomach’s been horrendously bloated the last couple of days to the point of looking six months pregnant.  The thing is when my stomach’s bloating, everywhere else overflows as well.  So, although I am lighter than I have been in a very long time, I feel fatter than ever.  Even though I’m fitting into size 12’s, I still feel that I look like a whale.  A pregnant whale at that.

I’ve also being organising (if you can call sending out frantic Facebook messages to a few people organising) the male shaped monsters fifth Birthday none-party.  I say it’s a none-party as we’re not really having a party.  Just a couple of children we know he’s comfortable with and their parents.  The plan is to then throw the monsters outside to play while we adults escape indoors.  Although, that is weather permitting.  The problem is, is that my crazy fancy dress lady friend has donated us a Scooby Doo outfit as long as I take pictures of the hubby wearing it.  Unfortunately, he can be a bit funny around fancy dress (he hates face painting and used to scream when I emerged from the shadow with a towel on my head…  I daren’t wear makeup, it would freak him out!).  I also did order a rather over-blown Scooby Doo chocolate cake for him…  Oh well, I’m sure it will be fine.  I have no games organised and no time to organise them but it will be fine.  It will…

Tomorrow I have to go for surgery for The Horn to be removed.  I was supposed to go earlier this month but it was the same day as the male shaped monster started his new school and I had a sever case of (wo)man flu.  I could barely speak I was that bunged up.  Not really the best time for surgery to be performed on my nose.  I shudder to think of the mess…  I then have physio on the foot on Thursday and my next Zoladex injection (yuk).  On the plus side though, the radio show is having another live band in my living room – which is a lot less stressful than it sounds.  Friday is the male shaped monsters’ Birthday and Saturday is the none-party-party.

I’ve also been asked to do some work with another festival, although it’s looking less likely as the brief is very slow in coming.  I re-set up my review site in a fit of madness and I ordered some business cards in another fit of madness.  Hell, tomorrow if I’m able to feel my face after the op on The Horn, I might even do a couple of reviews!  Shock Horror!

Black Holes and Revelations.

Today was always going to be scheduled as a stupidly busy day.  I’ve got my radio show tonight, and the hubby’s working lates – which means I’ve got to tackle the monsters into bed before half seven, make sure they’re both happy and then fiddle around with my levels.  Then, the local hospital decided to schedule two appointments for me this morning – one at ten to nine, and one at eleven a.m.  The first appointment would have to be at school run time wouldn’t it – when I can’t make my own way to the hospital because of the crutches.   So, luckily, my MiL said she would take the monsters to school as long as they were both up, dressed, breakfasted and ready by the time I had to leave so that she didn’t have any fights.  The male shaped monster was so ready he had his coat on as soon as she walked into the house.

As early as we set off for the hospital any time between 8 and 9 am on a weekday is rush-hour.  There’s no avoiding it.  So, we arrived only just on time.  Luckily the Gynaecology department has it’s own entrance and so the hubby was able to drop me off right outside while I hurried in as quickly as I could with the crutches.  I was still slightly out of breath when I arrived at the reception desk but just for once, the receptionist wasn’t the wife of Godzilla.  She was really pleasant and explained clinic had been delayed by a few minutes anyway so I had nothing to worry about.  Thrown slightly off balance, I hobbled over to a seat and picked up a magazine – expecting it to be three years young.  Another shock, it was this actual weeks copy of a glossy tabloid effort which melted my brain cells while I was reading it, but hey, it could have been a lot worse.

Anyway,  the appointment was another revelation.  I was expecting to be ‘ummed’ and ‘ahhhhhhhhhhhed’ at and then be told to attend another three dozen appointments while the clever people decided what was going on in my belly.  Well, that didn’t happen.  I was listened to – attentively; I was examined – thoroughly (I’m still in pain from that – 7 and a half hours later); I was listened to again – attentively and I was offered a form of pain management.  Zoladex is a man made hormone which is injected into the belly to reduce the production of oestrogen.  Basically – it’s going to stop my periods and so therefore, if the pain is Endo, then it should stop the pain. If, after 3 months worth of Zoladex, I’m still in absolute agony, then they’re going to refer me to the surgeons because then they’ll doubt it’s endo (which I’m not particularly happy about as I know that the endo could have spread, but I’ll cross that argumentative bridge when I come to it).  I’ve to go back every month for another injection of the implant and go for a pelvic scan and go back in 4 months for another chat with the Dr.  Lucky me.

We then decided we’d have enough time to make a mad dash across the town to drop something off for a lady from Freecycle (which I now help run.  It’s incredibly insightful.  Most people are lovely and appreciate what the admins of the site do, but then you get some real weirdo’s who either think you’re glued to the page 24/7 or think that you’re helping to run it not to be a part of the local community, oh no, they think you’re there to get everything for free and then to be abused.  I love it!).  We only just made it back in time for my 11 O’Clock appointment.

After getting lost a couple of times, I eventually found the oral and maxillofacial department.  Not to have any dentistry done, no.  At the end of January/beginning of February, I had what can only be described as a ‘horn’ growing on the side of my nose.  Sometimes, I affectionately referred to it as being my second nose.   Well, anyway, it turned out to be a cyst, which got itself infected and so grew other cysts on top of it, and became the only thing I could see out of my right eye.  I became a hermit as everyone who looked at me stared at the horn.  To be honest, I can’t blame them.  I would have stared too.  It was hideous.  Anyway, the horn has now shrunk to minuscule proportions, and so the surgeons are at last happy to remove it.  In April.  While I’m awake.  Lucky me.

So, after galavanting around the local hospital and the town the whole morning, we decided to be incredibly unhealthy and treat ourselves to a McDonalds.  The great golden arches of obesity.  Well, I’ve just been put into the beginnings of a chemical menopause at the age of 33, so why not?  I have a Maccy Dee’s about twice a year if that, and today one was needed.  So there.  And then I had the happy task of editing interviews for tonight’s show for the first time in around 12 years.  Luckily, it was just like riding a bike.  Except that I didn’t fall off.

All in all, so far today has been relatively good.  More revelations than black holes.  Just the way I like it.