My uterus was huge, REALLY huge. Huge uterus. I’d be fine. Huge uterus.
“It’s 3 o’clock, doll. Now you get to experience my driving!”
Tara quickly reached over and squeezed my hand. “You’ll be fine. I’ll see you afterwards, Robyn.”
Patches of sterile white walls zoomed by as Nurse Pamela steered my gurney down a narrow corridor and into the operating room. There, I was greeted by my surgeon. A few others in blue uniform wriggled their fingers into latex gloves. Dr. Davis gently guided me from the gurney onto the operating table.
My eyelids lifted open and transfixed on a clock: 8:10. What’s going on? Is it over? Tara slid softly into a chair by my bed and provided an update. I seized a number of important sound-bites: My uterus was huge, REALLY huge. I was very pale. Lost blood. Need iron. She’d pick some up at S&S. No initial signs of cancer. Ovaries gone. I’d be fine. My uterus was huge, REALLY huge. Huge uterus. I’d be fine. Huge uterus.
When fuller consciousness set in, I learned that the monstrous Mama Effer had entangled herself so shamelessly throughout my uterus and other organs that she posed a challenge for the extremely skilled surgical team. Pamela, who’d been in the field since the 1970s, had never seen anything like it. A process that normally takes 1.5 to 2 hours, and involves a blood loss of up to 500ccs, took 3 hours and a loss of 600ccs of my blood. I don’t know what that means, but I don’t think it’s good.
Though I felt absolutely miserable, my blood counts quickly rebounded to normalcy. Yet my face sweat profusely, head throbbed unforgivingly, nausea overtook me, and a pervasive pain charged through my being, inducing tears. “I’m where I need to be,” I told myself. “Get help.” I pushed the little help button frequently and often. Nursing staff were clearly swamped but very nice. Kimberly even took to the time to say “I’m sorry you’re in so much pain” before she left the wing.
Two days post surgery, Dr. Davis visited again. In addition to being cute, he’s exceptionally kind. I gazed at his beautiful blue eyes and sincere smile, as he said the three words that I’d been longing to hear: “You’re cancer free.”
“Oh thank God! And thank you!”
“Yes, nothing to worry about. The pathologies all came out negative.” He held his adoring smile for another few seconds.
Five strawberry jellos, one orange jello, two bites of a bland turkey burger, one cup of hot chocolate, and several episodes of vomit later, my four day hospital stay ended.
Recovery has been mostly miserable. But I’m recovering just fine. I’m profoundly grateful to my doctor and his team, to Tara and many others, and to be alive.
Last week I typed a message to a friend: “I’m doing fine. I’m on the men.” Oops. Upon re-read, I added a “d” to “men.” Better! Now nobody will ever know I wrote that. Hmm, a mere typo or wishful thinking? I’m hoping it’s a sign that you can take a gal’s woman-parts but her libido’s here to stay.