Ok, so there are all the obvious answers, friends, cats, parkrun, family, my job etc, all of which have already had an airing during this month of crazy blogging. I don't particularly want to repeat any of the things I've said in previous posts - although a spot of cutting and pasting would save a lot of time... Anyway, I kind of had a idea for this post a week or so ago, and had half written it - in my head of course - God forbidden and heaven forfend the pre-writing of blog posts *ahem* - earlier this week.
And then there was yesterday. Yesterday was a day trip to Hell, entered by the portal of the gynaecologist's den. Among other things, this delightful little experience made me think again about things that mean a lot to me. Unfortunately, the tone of a post which goes with this train of thought is going to be somewhat different to the initially planned one. It occurred to me that there are probably a number of people out there who may not want to know about the evils of hysteroscopies and who may flinch away from mentions of stirrups...and then it occurred to me that anyone reading this blog can probably handle it!
Mind you, they may not WANT to handle it.
So, there are two sections to Day 24 of 30DHN. Those of a sensitive disposition (particularly male persons of a sensitive disposition) should probably not read past the first section of the following. You've been warned!
I'm guessing that people who know me are expecting a tree-hugging hippy type response here. Well, prepare to be amazed, because the thing that means a lot to me is my mobile phone.
At this moment in time, it happens to be a blackberry, but through the years I've felt similarly about every phone I've owned - from the face changing nokia (I SOOOOO loved that phone) to a variety of other nokias, to the motorola razr - in pink (what was I thinking? my least favorite phone ever!) to the joys of the sony-ericsson walkman phone, to the present bb (and the future android or iphone, doubtless!)
The phone of the moment, whatever it may be is important because of what it represents - contact with the people I care about. Having a (reliable) mobile meant that I could stay in touch with Phil whilst gallivanting around in the West-Midlands, it meant we never had to worry when one of us was later than expected (which only happened, oh, five times a week) and via the magical medium of text messaging it meant many a rapidly smothered burst of laughter during meetings and late late rehearsals. Towards the end, our phones allowed us to communicate continuously, allowing me to get some work done whilst he was in hospital, and ensuring I had a means to communicate the bizarre tidbits of everyday life which made him smile. It also meant when I was needed, I could be there, fast.
My phone has many photos - it's always with me, even when my camera isn't. It contains phone numbers of everyone I need to contact, ensures people can always reach me, and as the sophistication has increased, has games to while away the hours, internet access, and email access. I can always contact people, and they can always contact me. The blackberry has removed the 'no webmail' scenario at school (virtually every member of staff has a smart phone these days. All the kids do!) and also has allowed my twitter addiction to flourish. When the blackberry servers went down, I had a horrible couple of days... although it was also strangely peaceful... feeling very cut off from the world.
My phone also has all sorts of info stored, contacts, passwords and dates - all backed up on the computer, but even so, without my phone, I feel naked. and helpless... I suspect some kind of detox may be required!
The second version - Not for the faint-hearted (or squeamish)
So, got a lie in on Wednesday. Bonus. And why was this, I hear you cry.... 'twas because I had an appointment in the middle of the day for a hysteroscopy and (possibly) a polypectomy.
I wasn't exactly looking forward to the 'procedure' (very few women of my acquaintance relish the prospect of removing the clothing from the lower half of their person, lying on a trolley bed with their feet in stirrups whilst a latex gloved (usually male) member of the medical profession peers into areas which shall remain nameless - for now! and that's before anything is inserted to scan, probe, remove samples or have a better look) but the amount of blood I lose every month, coupled with some very spectacular pain is starting to seriously inhibit my life.
I don't really feel that I should have to take three or four set of clothing to work with me, or constantly buy new knickers because of all the pairs that have been totally wrecked by my period each month. Spending 3 days curled up in a ball of pain each month and trying not to kill anyone who gets in my way isn't too much fun either. An unpleasant but not intolerable set of ultrasound scans (internal and external - oh yay!) had created a bit of panic, but a whole heap of blood tests had calmed that down, and I first met my gynae consultant knowing that I have a chocolate cyst (oh the irony!!) on my left ovary - which is probably the source of a lot of the pain - a thickened endometriotal layer (mild endo has been an ongoing diagnosis) and some kind of mass in my womb. The blood tests said all the cancer markers were normal, so no active malignancy, and in all probability a fibroid or a polyp nothing more sinister.
Mr Latex (as he shall be known - you never know who reads these things!) had declared that a proper look with a camera was required, and as I tend to be vvv ill after a General Anaesthetic, he suggested that have it done with only mild pain relief as an outpatient would be cool.
Long story short, it wasn't cool. At all. It fucking hurt. (apparently, not so bad once you've had a vaginal birth - that's helpful, right?) Having the cervix forcibly dilated when it's never been dilated before is definitely not a fun thing. And for those of us who are allergic to local anaesthetic, it's basically torture. I requested - without screaming or swearing - that things stop, at the point where the cervix had been opened, and fluid pumped in to complete the dilation process. Mr Latex did as asked - fortunately - but the pain was worse as he pulled his instruments out, and the room went black - apparently I announced very clearly 'I'm going to pass out' and did so. When I came round, it was to utter bedlam. The bp and heart rate monitors had alarms going off - heart rate over 200bpm, bp at something like 194/152, all very very bad news. Mr Latex is shouting for oxygen - which is rapidly on my face - and my leg is somehow trapped under one of the stirrups. The bp monitor was removed, and they took it in the old school way - not so high - dangerously low in fact. Pulse rate also plummeted as I came round. Oops. Maybe should have gone for the GA route.
The initial verdict was that some kind of tonic/colonic seizure had occured, brought on by the pain, and that as I had a similar episode five years ago, (which led to a set of epilepsy investigations, all of which led to nothing, and I have a letter from a neurologist saying my brain is normal!!) Mr Latex felt that I shouldn't drive and should be referred to a neurologist immediately. And yes. GA and inpatient procedures only from here onwards.
I left (and drove home, in spite of the 'advice') feeling very very scared. It didn't occur to me that he might have it wrong, and in my mind a minimum of a six month driving ban was inevitable, along with more hospital trips. At this point, I was feeling very sorry for myself, battered and bruised (try having a 'tonic/colonic episode' when you're strapped into stirrups and see how your legs look afterwards!) and as if I'd been kicked in the gut repeatedly.
Once I got home, before Kaye arrived to chase away the demon of depression with cake and fish & chips (note the order of that list!) I had something of an epiphany. It suddenly occurred to me how much my health means to me. Initially this was kind of a negative, fearful, 'how will I cope without it' experience, and as the painkillers wore off, the abdo pains increased, and I could barely sit up, let alone walk anywhere.
This morning, after a sleepless night, I got myself to the doctor's surgery, and my lovely GP fitted me into his already full schedule. His approach was somewhat different to Mr Latex's, as he pointed out that a fit wouldn't have been over in less than a minute, I wouldn't have been lucid and coherent as soon as I came out of it, and if my blood pressure had really been as high as the initial readings suggested, I would have sustained permanent damage, possibly a stroke or a heart attack. (as I have a heart murmur!) The very low readings were more likely to be accurate, as he diagnosed a vasa-vagal faint, not a seizure... The stomach cramps are apparently normal after the intrusion into the cervix, and some mighty painkillers have been administered. Much as I hate taking pills, they may have saved my life today!
So, all's well that ends well? Kind of. I can still drive - although I am intending to try and walk more as a way of life. And I've decided something. I need to do everything in my power to preserve and nurture my health. I do not want to be constantly functioning at 90%, in and out of hospitals and doctor's waiting rooms. So, no more fannying about (pardon the pun!) with the occasional healthy eating day, and a half-arsed exercise regieme. I am going to get fit, and lose weight. I can't change the gynae problems, or the heart murmur, but I can look after what I've got. No more excuses! So there.
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BW parkrun, in thinner, fitter, days!
Photo by Richard Carter |
