To be a "B", or not to be

In the fashion of the original Rule Nazi, I'm struggling with a decision.  Maybe my loyal follower(s), can help me out.

About six months ago, I visited the women's health clinic on campus.  Let me preface this by saying, I've never been very satisified with the woman who is the primary medical representative.  Her bed side manner leaves much to be desired and she gets irritated if you think you know more about your body than she does.

Back to my story.  I made a visit due to some concerns about severe abdominal pain in the lower left quadrant during my mentrual cycle.  It wasn't constant but it did come in waves at random times...enough to buckle me over occasionally.

Her diagnosis, after a disgusted look, was constipation and suggested I start taking fiber pills.  I was pretty certain that this was a blow off.  I've been charting my cycles for four years and have become intimately knowledgable about my body and reproductive system.  I knew something was wrong but she certainly wasn't going to help any. 

Remember, this is not my first complaint about her...although in the past it has been mostly behavioral issues that I've disliked.  So now, three weeks after surgery to remove endometriosis in the LOWER LEFT QUADRANT of my abdomen...I ask myself...should I write a letter to the director of the health center sharing my frustration?  Submit a formal complaint?  Or do I just let it go and hope she just didn't like me personally and she's perfectly pleasant to every other girl/woman that sits in her exam room?

Would love some thoughts on this...if you are so inclined. 

Phenergan Is my Friend

I've never had surgery before.  I've never been admitted past the ER (kidney stone) before.  I have a hard time visiting people in the hospital.

Shows like "House" and "ER" are all about people who are in a hospital because something terrible happened to them.  Medical comedies rarely take place in hospitals (yes, I'm aware of Scrubs).  All the sterile, non-porous surfaces and ultra high Wyzenbeek rated upholstery just screams blood, urine and other biohazardous substances I don't want to think about.  The only people not bothered by hospitals are the people who work in them everyday, and I'm convinced that's just a matter of desensitization.

So you can imagine the angst I was feeling in the 24 hours leading up to my laparoscopy.  And to add insult to injury, I was prescribed a Fleet's for the night before.  Really wouldn't have been to big of a deal if we'd been in a hotel, but our fabulous friend, J.G. had offered his guest "suite" for the evening.  Okay, okay...not so much a suite as his entire second floor complete with bedroom, bathroom and home gym.  I survived it, that's all I have to say about that.

Nothing to eat or drink (even water) after 7:00 PM the night before....I almost did NOT survive that.  The lack of food wasn't really a problem but for someone who has a Klean Kanteen of cold water at her side every minute of the day, the lack of water was torturous.  I used a bit of chapstick (also against the rules) to deal with the dry lips, so a big shout out to Chapstick 100% Naturals Lip Butter!

Pre-Op was scheduled for two hours before surgery.  Yep, that consisted of me signing in, getting a wrist band and handing over my credit card.  Glad we set aside two hours for that!  Finally being called back to those little horse stalls with curtains was infinitely better than sitting in the outpatient surgery waiting room with all the bored little kids and anxious adults.  I got myself changed into the big purple gown and fun purple socks before they made me pee in a cup.  Seriously, people...I'm here for surgery to un-block both fallopian tubes...is there really a big concern that I may be pregnant?

Talking to the anesthesiologist was like answered prayer...he hooked me up with some intravenous valium to help calm my nerves.  Ahhhhhh, worked like a charm....for the first hour of waiting.  By the time it was my turn, the valium had pretty well worn off and I was a bit anxious again.

I had mentioned to K that the one thing I did NOT want, was to see the inside of the operating room.  I wanted to be knocked out cold before entering so I didn't have to look at all the scary stuff.  Well, horror of horrors...not only did I have to see the O.R., I had to walk myself in and put myself up on the table.  As I stared at all the lights and metal gizmos, a young man in a mask leaned over me and after describing his job (to keep me from dying on the table) he asked how I was doing.  Ha!  I believe my answer was "Scared to death".  Well, that nice young man promised me something to take the edge off and after a burning sensation in my hand and the blink of an eye...I was in recovery.  It's so crazy how you're aware of what's going on around you but you just don't quite care enough to open your eyes. 

K was so excited to share the doctor's findings that I'm not sure I was fully settled into my horse stall before he shared.  The surgery was apparently quite a success!  Both tubes open and supposedly operable.  I hope my reaction wasn't too apathetic for K...I was feeling a bit nauseous.  I really have no idea how much time passed but it didn't seem long enough, when the nurse came through saying it was time to get dressed and go home.  K says I was full assist lower body and mod assist upper body...if you're in the medical field you know what that means.  For the rest of you...he had to put my pants on me and I was able to put my hands over my head and pull down my t-shirt.  He didn't bother with my bra...and I didn't notice.   

I'm sure it was the sudden change in elevation (from sitting to standing) that did it, but no sooner was I dressed than I found myself making use of a little blue bag with a plastic funnel of sorts at the top.  That's when K requested some Phenergan.  A sharp stick in the thigh and a wheelchair ride later, I'm feeling no pain or nausea as I sleep away the two hour car ride home. 

All in all, a little anti-climatic for me but I'm thrilled to be done with it.   Now we just have to wait and see if Dr. P's foray into my abdomen yields the desired results!  If so, I've been assured that all the pain and discomfort I've had for the past two weeks (and counting) will all be worth it...with no regrets.  I think I'll hold you to that, J.H.!

Dr. P and the Mystery Twinge

Have you ever cried in front of a stranger and then felt stupid? Did that stranger hand you a box of tissue before the first tear fell because he saw you well up right in front of him? Did he then call you "kiddo" and reassure you that you were in a safe place and to never feel embarassed about crying? Sounds like a pretty great stranger, eh? Well, let me introduce you to my new reproductive endocrinologist...Dr. P. He reminds me a bit of my husband's Uncle G, whom I adore. That was a bit creepy at first, but then I decided I liked the perceived familiarity.
It was a slightly surreal experience, that day in his office. Just before we were called back by a sweet little nurse, I had stopped in the restroom to empty my bladder of all the drinks I had consumed on our 2 hour drive into a whole other state. When I came out, K commented on me rubbing a spot on my tummy. I assured him I was fine, just some of those weird twinges I get around ovulation time. We went straight to Dr. P's office where we small talked about the weather and the drive, before we ended up in an examination room for my annual exam and an ultrasound. During this exam, Dr. P became aware of my "twinges" when he pressed on that area and I flopped on the table a bit. During the ultrasound he had a look and said there was something a little different there but wasn't sure what.
Once we reconvened in his office, he started describing and sketching what my fallopian tubes look like based on my hysterosalpingogram results. As soon as he began describing these results, all the tension and anxiety that had been building for the last 4 weeks, suddenly and without permission, began to release. I hate crying in front of people, not so much because it makes me look weak and girly, but more because I am NOT a pretty crier. My face gets all squinchy and blotchy, my eyes disappear and my nose begins to flow like a faucet. He carried on with the explanations, pausing when the tears got the better of me, and checking to see if we had questions. I told K, that I was depending on him to pay attention and get all the facts cuz I wasn't sure if my emotion was causing some temporary amnesia.
The results...I'm scheduled for a laparoscopy to find out what's going on and fix it, if possible. We'll know a lot more after that.