{"id":707,"date":"2016-03-27T22:43:34","date_gmt":"2016-03-27T22:43:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/therainbowsendblog.wordpress.com\/?p=707"},"modified":"2021-10-05T09:07:14","modified_gmt":"2021-10-05T09:07:14","slug":"was-it-endometriosis","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.vickygooden.com\/index.php\/2016\/03\/27\/was-it-endometriosis\/","title":{"rendered":"“WAS IT ENDOMETRIOSIS?!”"},"content":{"rendered":"

These were the first hurried words I recall asking the nurses as I came round from the General Anaesthetic last week. I was desperate to know if it was in fact Endo wreaking havoc in my insides.<\/span><\/p>\n

Then the pain hit me. My insides were burning. I reached for my swollen tummy and writhed around pleading for pain relief. My whole body was shaking, teeth chattering. The nurse gave me some morphine but that didn\u2019t touch the sides. She followed it up with a dose of something else, something magical that took the edge off.<\/span><\/p>\n

“Yes, it was endometriosis\u2026\u201d<\/em> she kindly said, and with that I nod off.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Husband and I got to Spire Harpenden Hospital around 4pm March 16th. My room was rather nice actually, overlooking the car park pond. The nurses came to see me regularly explaining this and that, taking blood pressure and kitting me out with my gown and stockings. I was told to be ready for 5.30pm.<\/span><\/p>\n

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It\u2019s just before 6.30pm when I am met by a lovely man, an anaesthetist who walks me down to the theatre. There I am, a 34 year old woman in bunny slippers and a dressing gown (the latter specifically purchased for this event mind) making small talk about where I live when inside I\u2019m prickled with nerves.<\/span><\/p>\n

I want them to be oh so gentle in there you know, these lady parts are precious, the gateway to life etc. Random thoughts like \u2018what if the surgeon sneezes when he\u2019s in there with his prodders and prods the wrong bit and, and, and…’<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

No sooner am I on the bed, I have a cannula in the back of my hand and liquid is seeping into my veins. I remain talkative (nerves) but I am definitely slurring. The second dose goes in, my face gets cold pins and needles and I\u2019m out.<\/span><\/p>\n

This is what having a laparoscopy looks like. Air is pumped into your abdomen to help the surgeon navigate around. Plus a hysteroscopy which enables the surgeon to see inside your uterus.<\/span><\/p>\n

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The procedure was supposed to take 45 mins, but I get wheeled back to my room around 8.45pm. I\u2019m staying the night, and thats absolutely fine by me. <\/span><\/p>\n

The next few hours are a blur. The consultant comes round and imparts all the vital info on to my husband while I\u2019m still away with the fairies. I hear him say it was stage 2\/3 endometriosis (the most severe stage being 4) and that he\u2019d like to see me in a week. They\u2019ll be signing me off work for at least 2. He hands us the photos of my insides taken during the op.<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m starving. Husband gives me Orange Tropicana which is heavenly but i\u2019m eager for my pre-ordered sarnie to arrive.<\/span><\/p>\n

Mary the nurse is a little treasure. In and out to see how I am, insists I don\u2019t get up for a wee without her. With my husband now gone, the sarnie arrives around 11pm. Mary helps hoist me up to sitting and without warning up comes the Tropicana all down her little arm. Oh Mary. <\/span><\/p>\n

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I\u2019m in and out of sleep all night, with full body sweats going on and remaining very sore. On a few occasions I wake up, sarnie in hand, I take a slow motion bite and fall back asleep with it still firmly in my grasp. <\/span><\/p>\n

The next day I discover random selfies and Snapchat vids I’ve taken throughout the night on my phone. It’s important to keep your humour :\/<\/p>\n

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