Farewell to the Sisterhood!

"There are only two certainties in life", the saying goes - "death and taxes"! This morning, I added a third - my final period, ever!

Weird as it seems, I didn't think it would end like this. Before my diagnosis, I thought that I would go into that twilight zone known as "peri-menopause" where my hitherto regular-as-clockwork monthly visitor would start to become erratic, unpredictable and tiresome - rather like a small creature on steroids. I was almost hoping that, having resigned myself to the sub-total hysterectomy, my body would react by starting that process, thus suddenly shrinking the fibroid and negating the need for surgery.

No such luck, it feels like my hormones are fighting to the end - "we're not your problem and we're going to soldier on until the last!" they seem to be saying. There is a slim chance that removing my uterus will lead to an early menopause but with this fortitude, I'm feeling optimistic that this may not be the case.

Time to think about what I'm going to do with the extra storage space, in my cupboard, suitcase, handbag ...

An average day

7.00 am - alarm goes off and I don't have the energy to get up - forget all thoughts of trying to make it into the office

8.00 am - clock radio shuts off creating just enough difference in ambience to wake me up from the secondary snooze I've gone into. Pull on a short and long sleeved T-shirt to warm the clothes up so that I don't freeze when I finally get out from under my warm quilt.

8.15 am - Lever myself out of bed and put more layers on. Feel like I'm walking in wet cement. Go to the kitchen and take a probiotic then out to the balcony where I do approximately 60 (who can keep count?!) laps. I like the cold breeze on my face but each lap is a chore this morning. I usually complete 60 in 15-20 minutes. Today, it takes 30.

9.00 am - Back from cycling, ravenous, sit down and eat usual gluten-free cereal with oat milk, checking emails as I go.

9.30 am - Washing the breakfast dishes, I feel a tinge of nausea. This continues while I continue my morning routine, take a couple of phone calls and get dressed.

11.00 am - Pulling on a pair of size 10 stretchy pants (thank goodness for stretchy pants!) I feel rounder than yesterday. This is not unusual, I can go up and down like a yoyo and most likely will have done so by the end of the day. By the time I've added a goose down vest, I feel like getting back into bed. Around this time, I would most likely take a walk outside to get some exercise and fresh air but today is so cold, I wait until after lunch to see if it improves.

1.00 pm - After a couple of hours of additional online reading - if I wasn't obsessive before, I certainly am now - I chance across an(other) e-book which seems like a bargain at US27.00. (The first one I purchased echoed most of what I was able to read online but it was good to get confirmation.) According to those who have read this one, the strategies outlined enable you to have a "happy hysterectomy". Will get back to you on that one!

2.00 pm - Had lunch - leftover from last night - yum! Followed this up with a cup of green tea then a cup of echinnacea tea - concentrating on strengthening my immune system as much as possible before surgery.

3.00 pm - Had planned to go out for my daily walk but had a visitor which resulted in some online research then started reading the e-book and was so engrossed by all the stories that I have only moved from my chair at the dining table for toilet breaks.

5.30 pm - See what I mean? Had a fair amount of intestinal wind following lunch which, having read the aforesaid e-book, could have been resolved by walking. Lesson learned!

8.00 pm - Bolt down dinner as I'm usually starving then regret it as it then starts to push into my other organs and make itself known. Need to sit stretched out so that I can digest.

11.00 pm - Get to bed but abdomen feels like a freshly pumped beach ball with no obvious way to relieve it. To the rhythm of gurgling and shifting, I finally fall asleep.

3.00 am - Awake but bathroom visit yields no relief. Massage abdomen until 6.00 am when finally fall back asleep again. And so it goes ...

So how does it feel?

It depends on the day, but some days, it feels like I have what I imagine the much maligned chronic fatigue would feel like - a walk around the local supermarket and I have to sit down for a rest.

Other days, I can wake up feeling like it was all in my head and I have a normal few hours then the pressure starts to build in my abdomen causing a nuance of nausea and I recall why I need to take it easy. Coughing and sneezing make me apprehensive as the squeezing of the abdominal muscles is intense in both cases.

At times there is a stabbing pain, like when you're trying to pull a particularly well-stuck bandaid off a piece of loose skin. This can ease or grow depending on the amount of physical activity I've undertaken.

Most of the time, there is a "fullness", as though I've eaten too much after a big meal - small constant meals help. I don't know why I should be surprised as I have been told that I am carrying the equivalent of a 6-month foetus around inside me - I have a newfound respect for pregant women and their burdens.

All of these symptoms are usually eased by a bowel movement and thankfully I follow a diet which ensures that I'm reasonably regular! That said, some days the pressure in that area deadens the desire to go until I consciously think of it. This is one of the reasons that I feel I need to deal with this sooner rather than later.

So the paperwork's gone to the hospital, my blood test is booked and I've paid the gap in my hospital fee. The machine is in motion.

Decisions! Decisions!

After arming myself with lots of online reading (thanks google!), I rolled up for my appointment with the gynaecological and pelvic specialist (I'll refer to as Dr B) to whom my GP had referred me.

I turn up a few minutes earlier than my 3.45 pm appointment only to find that they'd deliberately allowed a 15 minute window for processing paperwork (which took only 5 minutes) so I was left waiting till 4.00 pm before the said specialist came out of his office to call my name.

I had taken the liberty of looking Dr B up on the net, finding only a profile on the website for the clinic and a photo of his face. At least there were no bad "reviews" and I also noted that he worked overseas in Italy. While none of this was terribly comforting, meeting him in person was possibly less so. There is no other way to put it other than he looked a little like Tweedle-dum, not in an unkind way, just that he was almost perfectly spherical and rather short.

Perhaps it was always part of the plan but after asking me a few questions about why I was there (even though my documents were handed over prior to my being called to his office) he suggested I should have a CT scan. I pointed him to the scans which were open on his desk and the findings letter which was sitting underneath the referral letter. He gave a perfunctory look at the scans and started talking about the need for surgery. While I was keeping an open mind, it was almost with relief that he told me that he wasn't able to operate at the moment due to having had a heart attack at the end of last year and he was going to refer me to his partner in the practice, Dr C. Almost as an afterthought reassurance that he wasn't handing me over to a complete novice, his next comment before picking up the phone to call her, was to mention that his actual specialty was fixing other surgeons' mistakes and that Dr C was an excellent specialist in this area of surgery.

When she came in, Dr C reminded me of a Christmas elf. She was small, delicate and friendly. Unlike Dr B, she offered me her hand to shake and I'm pleased to note, it was a firm shake - good start! Although we began our chat in Dr B's office, once I seemed to be warming to her, she invited me into her own office and we started the consultation all over again.

I have to say, having done all the reading I had, I was determined to ask all the questions I needed to satisfy myself that this person knew what s/he was doing. Her first order of business was to show me what I was dealing with. She opened up her computer and brought up some full colour shots of various fibroids she had removed recently. (She did apologise but she hadn't had time to upload her latest two as she'd been too busy. She reminded me a lot of myself at this point.) The first one was impressively almost twice the size of mine, there were ones with uterus attached and without, with & without ovaries and ones where they were embedded in the wall. I'm assuming at this stage that mine is also going to end up in this gallery and although I have seen enough, she insists on showing me one last one. I guess it's good to know that she is passionate about her work.

We are then into discussing my options and her recommendation then filling in medical history details and talking through the procedure (which I should mention now is called a "subtotal hysterectomy" which is removing the uterus but leaving the ovaries and cervix intact. It appears from the CT scan that this fibroid is attached to the wall of my uterus and as I am unlikely to want to retain this for child-bearing purposes, they are removing it as well.

Although it is a very standard procedure, she has to outline the risks: the possibility that they may damage my intestine and I could end up with a colostomy bag; the possibility of heavy bleeding so I have to sign a consent form for a blood transfusion should I need it; one last thing, if they find there is a problem with my ovaries or cervix when they get in there, then I have consented for them to take those out as well, better than going under again I guess...

I try to imagine being in recovery for such a long time following this procedure and I can't. I don't think I've even had a holiday this long before so it will be interesting - perhaps an opportunity to watch all of those 2000 DVDs in my library!

Keep you posted!

Medical Drama - Ground Zero

I have tried to live a healthy life, partially as a result of food intolerances, partially hoping that to do so is to ensure a graceful descent into my later years with as little medical intervention as possible but with all my faculties intact.

Until this year, it seemed to be working.

I won't say that I didn't see it coming (in hindsight, there were signals) but like any busy person I put fatigue down to a temporary virus or lack of sleep or eating the wrong foods. So when this symptom reared its ugly head approximately 8 weeks ago, I chose to ignore it. I was pre-menstrual so feeling bloated, I'd been eating all the wrong foods as a result of working late in the office and I thought I'd picked up gastroenteritus which accounted for the gurgling sounds and sensations which were emanating from my abdomen.

I remember that first time leaning up against the sink while washing the dishes or the basin while brushing my teeth and feeling a distinct solidity which didn't feel quite right. I put it down to eating too many carbs and resolved to eat better. This, as well as the fact that it disappeared when my period passed seemed to assuage my natural inclination to panic.

When it happened again, I was still in a state of denial. Every morning I woke up and couldn't feel the mass I put off making a doctor's appointment. What finally convinced me to see a doctor was simply the matter of whether I was going to purchase a weekly rail ticket or not.

As it was a Sunday, I went to a medical centre and saw the first doctor I could get an appointment with. He asked a few questions then had me lie down on his examination table. Instead of prodding at me, he gently pressed both hands from the outside of my abdomen inwards. He said he agreed that I had an unexplained mass, the examination was done and went back to his computer to type. The outcome was a referral to a local lab, initially for an ultrasound, then, should that prove inconclusive, a CT scan. I had to ask what he thought the mass might be and he said possibly a fibroid.

That put paid to my weekly ticket.

Monday morning, not knowing but also not wishing to delay by doing the wrong thing, I rang the lab first up and asked whether I had to fast for the ultrasound. They asked what kind of ultrasound I needed to have. I said abdomen and pelvis. They said you need to fast for one but not the other. So both of us confused, they asked whether I'd drunk anything, following a negative, they gave me an appointment at 9.00 am. I trotted off and into reception where I filled in a form and was asked whether I'd drunk my litre of water. I said that I'd been asked not to.

My ultrasound technician came to fetch me, learned I hadn't drunk any water but decided to take me in anyway. She applied the gel then started to roll the instrument over my now admittedly flattish abdomen. At one stage, she put her free hand on her chest and I wondered whether that was a reaction to what she was seeing on the screen. She said she couldn't see my ovaries but she would print the images and consult with a doctor as to whether I should go straight into a CT scan.

Following consultation with the in-house doctor, she said he thought it was most likely a very large fibroid but had recommended I get the CT scan. I then had to sit in reception, drink 4 cups of water out of the vending machine and wait to be called.

I'm not proud but while waiting and watching Mornings with Kerrie-Anne on the flat screen TV, I was taken by the description of an eco-mop which I was too embarrassed to phone and order immediately but did so once I was back at home eating lunch thus proving that it is possible to shop almost anywhere!

About half an hour later, I went into another part of the building and was shown into a curtained booth where I was asked to remove my clothing while leaving my underpants and socks on, then to put on the gown and tie it at the back. Once I'd done all this (shivering all the while, those gowns are not made for warmth!) I was led into another big room with something that looked vaguely reminiscent of the Stargate gateway, a futuristic giant ring that the bed slipped my body in and out of while it blasted rays of light at specific areas.

I was advised that I would have to hold my breath twice when asked - this always seems like such an easy thing to do until you have to do it. The actual instruction came from a pre-recorded, mechanical sounding voice and I felt like I'd fallen into the set of 2001: A Space Odyssey with my own female version of Dave.

The procedure didn't take long and soon I was resting while a doctor checked that they had everything they needed. A monitor to my left started flipping through images, being rotated and examined by someone I couldn't see. Once the technician confirmed they were done, I was free to get dressed and go back to reception. Here I paid for the service and was told the images would be ready in an hour.

Having skipped breakfast and the time being around 11.00 am, I said I'd come back and went home to eat. I was back at the reception desk a little over an hour later only to be told that while the images were ready, the report hadn't been typed up and "it's quite a long one", as if this was a terrible burden.

For the next two hours, I sat through Ellen and was just thinking about going and getting some lunch when my name was called and I was handed my envelope. Thinking that I just wanted this to be over, I headed straight back to my new GP's medical centre and demanded an appointment, even though the frazzled receptionist didn't want to give me one. Hooray for my new found assertiveness, it's amazing what fear will do to you.

The doctor examined my scans and wrote me a referral to a gynaecologist. He asked me if I had any preference and all I could say was "a good one". The last question I asked him was how urgently I should try to make an appointment and he said "within a week".

This having sent shivers down my spine, I spent a sleepless night and went back to work the next day to wrap up everything I could, resolving to spend time on myself until I had some answers.

The third day, I woke up almost symptomless (the mass had mysteriously moved from its prominent position) and I wondered whether I'd imagined it all. It was a relatively good day, I spent a great deal of it getting my accounts up to date for the end of the financial year.

I probably stayed up a little longer than I should have so by the time I went to have a shower, I was feeling quite exhausted.

All today I've felt slightly nauseous and the bloating has returned. I'm glad now that I wasn't at work today as it would have been really uncomfortable.

My appointment is on July 8th. So the countdown begins, one day at a time ...