get a second opinion

I am having another frenzied day, cleaning the house, collecting tea cups [there are actually 36! yay!], designing an ad for the FH and off to spinning later. Shopping and ironing: DONE ha!

And, HORROR, my fridge, having housed the soaking bacalhau, now smells just like one…I've cleaned it twice to no avail, and am now trying the 'coffee grounds' trick. Sigh. Hope it works.

Just checking in on my email and I had this following message from Hystersisters. They have created a new website which is quite interesting, here. So I thought I'd slap it into a post before it gets lost in the rest of the emails that I keep 'saving to deal with later' [and then forgetting to deal with].

Good advice - if you're not certain - get a second opinion!

 

"Mama always said, "Many hands make light work!" It helps when cleaning the house. It helps on the deck of a big ship. It helps when there is a big, gigantic task that one person can not accomplish alone.

And so it is NOW with this video - sponsored and created solely by HysterSisters - that needs to be passed along with it's message to all women.

I'm asking for your helping hands. I'm asking you to view this video. And then at the end of the video - fill out the form to send it to other women. Your sisters. Your aunts. Your co-workers. Your girlfriends."

the procedure

I am writing this post mainly for my friends in Portugal. The translation of certain medical terms is complicated, and I really want them [you! I know you're reading this girls :o)] to know exactly what is happening / going to happen.

I keep getting emails from them, worried and confused as to what precisely is going to happen to me. Oh they make me feel like a Rock Star!

So.

Step 1:

The pre-op. This is when they ask you all about how you are NOW. Usually you have to report to the hospital for this, but as Renninson [my surgeon] is away on his holidays, this is not possible. So what will happen is this; a triage nurse will call me and run through what she can by phone. Everything else [blood tests etc] will be done on the morning of the surgery. This is a good thing, as the RD&E is full of the vomiting bug! I really do not want to be there if I don't need to.

Step 2:

The surgery is scheduled for the 1^st February. It is to be a laparoscopy. Renninson will try to take a sample of the 'thickening' they found on the original CT scan. This could be complicated due to the scar tissue I already have. The original hysterectomy, oophorectomy and Salpingo-oophorectomy was a massive surgery, and caused a lot of chaos in my abdomen. There is a LOT of scar tissue in there. He may not be able to get past/through it to the site of the problem. IF he can't, I will have to have another type of surgery – the same as I had when I had the original cancer removed. I DO hope not, as that scar has just healed well, and I do not wish to do the 'sardine tin' thing again…i.e.: chopped open from navel to pubic bone.

So, I am hoping he can get the sample of the 'thing' with the laparoscopy.

Here is a picture of the laparoscopy:

Looks like metal chopsticks!!

Step 3:

The biopsy. Once they have a sample of the 'thing' they will core biopsy it, and then we will know exactly what it is. 

After the laparoscopy, we will then simply await the result of the biopsy. Hoping it is scar tissue and not a recurrence of the hideous ovarian cancer. Keep your fingers crossed girls!

step 09: the surgery at last

Monday 3rd March:
Sprang out of bed at 6.00, strangely I am really looking forward to getting there and having the surgery done, can’t wait for it to be over. The way I see it, as soon as it’s done, I’ll be recovering. Plus I won’t resemble a small block any more I hope. Hooray. As I don’t fit into any of my clothes, I am washing and wearing the same things over and over. I refuse to buy lots of clothing to fit this big stomach – which, by the way, now resembles a 5 month pregnancy, is rock hard and gets in the way when I try to cut my toenails. Grr.

Sloped around the kitchen madly guzzling as much black coffee as possible before the 7.00 curfew – had to stop all food at 12.00 the night before, and only clear liquid from then on [no, no gin allowed girls]. Nothing at all after 7.00, not even water! Jumped in the car at 7.30 to arrive early at the ward with my little bag stuffed full of books, the faithful Nintendo [by this time my family had handily supplied more games! cool]. Supposed to be there at 8.00. Puffed the last ciggie on the way there - I felt like I was on my way to jail. No smoking, no eating, nothing. Oh well, it won’t be for long, as I have been training my brain to think of only drinking, eating and walking as soon as I wake up.

As soon as you can drink, eat etc. you can lose the catheter and the epidural. Sounded good to me. The other thing in my mind was that IF there was no tube down my nose, that would also be a good sign, as it would mean no major bowel issues.

So, get on the ward, have the first of many blood pressure checks, and extraction of blood for testing [I am convinced they drink the stuff - how many tests can you DO on one persons blood anyway??]. Renninson arrived with a posse, to see if I had any questions, my only one was ‘when am I going in?’, and was duly informed that I was 5th on the list. So, about 12.00 noon I’d be in. An hour later it changed, as a diabetic woman had to be put forward [hardly surprising, as by this time I was ravenous and I imagine it’s much worse if you’re diabetic]. Andrew managed to secure a coffee and a bun in the café, I carried on starving away in the ward. No food, no water AND no fags?? Rather trying!

Eventually got my smashing hospital nighty thing at about 12.30. Climbed into that, after doing it up the wrong way ten times I finally succeeded in getting it so that my derriere didn’t show. Another blood pressure check. Things get a bit hazy about here. Went to the theatre on foot with a stripy nurse. Waved goodbye to Jones at the lift, felt a bit tearful then and I was crying in the lift. We went up, he went out. I felt like running after him. But toddled off with Nursey instead.

Arrived at the theatre and no-one would let us in! Lunch time for anaesthetists apparently! Hung about in the corridor in a suspicious fashion until eventually a severe Nurse person arrived and got them sorted. In we went. Jumped onto the little steps and climbed onto the bed [looks like a big slab, and is definitely washable!]. One more blood pressure check, and ‘My what good oxygen levels you have dear’ [this always happens, as they think all smokers are suffocating in their own blood or something]. Massive great stab in the back of my hand, which had to be beaten half to death for a vein to show it’s face, in went the dreaded cannula. Then a discussion about my nails with the anaesthetist, which dissolved into tears [I always do this going under – it’s a control thing I reckon] and then…