And then I completely spaz out...

I'm doing a terrible job keeping up with my blog posts.  I have several posts saved as drafts; I seemed to have lost my writing verve.  Anyway, I thought that tonight of all nights, I should check-in and give an update.

On the knitting front:
I'm currently working on Sharon Winsauer's Dragon of Happiness stole.  I made it to row 130-something before realizing that I've committed two disastrous mistakes -- even though I *thought* I was keeping careful track of progress row to row.  By the end of Monday, I was convinced to stop knitting and frog back.  [If you think you're smug enough to mention life-line bullshit to me, consider yourself warned that I won't stand for it.]  I'm not a fan of just plain ripping out and starting over.  Picking up lace stitches sucks. And now that I'm looking at what I've knit so far, I'm quickly becoming critical of what I've knit so far.

I'll be sure to take a picture to post before completely reducing the project back to a ball.


On the work front:
I'm busier than ever and am traveling more than ever, though the vast majority of it is within Michigan and Ohio.  Some of my draft posts have been about my little adventures and I'll hopefully have time to this weekend to publish some of those while I'm recovering from....

On the health front:
...."routine, out-patient" surgery that I'm having done tomorrow.  [Note:  men folk, this is where you might be more comfortable in not reading any further.] [This means you, Mark.]

It all started like this:  over the past year, I've been having periods that are reminiscent in misery to when I was a 13 year old. Crampy. Disgustingly heavy. Uncomfortable and irritable for a week (at least).  It got so bad that while I was attending a meeting in Minneapolis in October, I needed head to the restroom to take care of business several times in the morning alone that a coworker asked me if I was okay.  He happened to take notice when a bottle of Imodium tumbled out of my purse (I travel with a whole cache of various remedies); I led him on to think that I was having horrific diarrhea rather than an out of control period.  Not only has this monthly condition been travel-unfriendly, it's particularly uncomfortable when I'm in the office since I work predominantly around men.

My personal physician thought that maybe I had fibroids and she recommended me to have ultrasounds and some blood tests (note the plural) done.  This was all going on during the debate over making transvaginal ultrasounds mandatory prior to abortions, so I got to experience firsthand what some of the hub bub was all about.  I had this done at Sparrow, the local hospital, and found the whole evening incredibly hard to take -- for the blood tests, I couldn't eat for half a day leading up to the blood draw (and watched as one of the lab technicians cut into a delicious looking chocolate cake that was in their breakroom that was directly across from me as another technician was turning me into a walking pin cushion); for the ultrasounds, I needed to drink a liter or so of water in the hour leading up to the imaging.  As you can imagine, I warned the technician that any fast moves on her part was going to result in me peeing all over her.  Thankfully, she did the pelvic ultrasound and allowed me to relieve myself before the transV one.  I was able to see the monitor as the technician was snapping off photos, which was good because I was able to take my mind off of the probe she was jabbing through me.  During one of the takes, a bright circular object came on screen.  "Hmph...Are you using and IUD?," the tech asked me as she saved the image.

"Um, no.  Hey, what is that?," I replied as I craned my neck further to get a better look at the screen, which wasn't easy to do because I was trying to keep everything below my waist planted in place.

"Oh," <*sigh*> "I don't know."  Thanks, lady.  Thanks for a vote of confidence!


I followed up with my doctor once the results were ready a few weeks later and she informed me that I was anemic and that she thought I had fibroids.  During the intervening weeks as I had been waiting for the results, LuAnn had assured me that fibroids weren't all bad.  While she was recovering from having her tonsils removed earlier in the fall, she shared a hospital room with a gal who had a 15 pound (!!!) fibroid removed.  Do you see the silver lining that I see?  Instant weight loss!

Regardless, my doctor referred me to go to an actual ob/gyn for a second opinion, which I did and found that my evaluation at Sparrow was a skip in the park compared to that appointment.  Not only did I have the transV imaging done again, but the ob/gyn also biopsied part of my uterus and conducted a sonohysterogram...twice...and without any anesthetic.  Don't let anyone tell you I'm a wuss.

But, even I was reduced to a sobbing mess after those procedures.

I saw stars.

I stood up from the exam table too fast, felt woozy, and thankfully made it to the private bathroom before vomiting.

"The pain you're feeling is your uterus spasming," the ob/gyn reassured me as she pat my had before leaving the room.  No shit it was spasming.  I had never felt so terrible and completely violated.  Why the fuck wasn't I given any sort of pain killer before hand?!?

I was in such bad shape that a nurse helped me into a hospital gown (I still had not been able to dress myself), guided me to a recovery room, and gave me a shot of something.  At that point, I didn't care what it was.  To me, it seemed like forever; but in reality, I'm sure only 30 minutes passed for me to calm down and recover.  The recovery room had a sink and mirror that I was able to use to bring myself back into a respectable appearance.

In case you were wondering: no, I didn't drive myself to this appointment.  I at least had the wherewithal to have Sarah accompany me.  The great thing about knitters is that there's always a project in their bag, so it really doesn't matter how long an appointment takes; sometimes, the longer the better anyhow.  So, I found Sarah patiently knitting away on a log cabin stole she's been working on.  It didn't take her much arm twisting to get her to go to lunch at Soup Spoon where I followed up my shitty experience with good food and great beer.

My cousin Rose attended the follow-up appointment with me.  Rose is a nurse, so I wanted someone with me that could ask the heavy medical questions should the biopsy come back as malignant.  I knew that if I had received that diagnosis, the rest of the discussion would cease to exist for me.  Thankfully, the biopsy was benign and the shiny circular objects (yes, plural now that the more thorough imaging was performed) were calcified polyps.

Which brings my story to tomorrow:  in the morning, I am undergoing a hysteroscopy (which I've taken to calling a vagiscopy because I keep forgetting the actual term), polypectomy, and a D & C. 

I am petrified. 

One of my first questions to the ob/gyn after she gave me her laundry list of fun was whether I was going to be knocked out during the whole thing.  She assured me that I would be.  I am holding her to it.  I better not be the one hooking my heels into the stirrups.  I hope to be pretty far off in dreamy land.

And while I was driving home after my softball game tonight, I started to feel a complete sense of dread.  What if something goes horribly wrong?  What if I don't wake up?  What if I wake up and find that something went wrong and I've been in medically induced a coma for 10 years? What if, what if, what if...Yes, I started making myself crazy with possibilities. 

So, part of the reason that I'm really feeling under pressure to update tonight in particular is that I want a few of you that know me personally to give Chuck a call/text/tweet (@starchpoodle) if you don't hear from me on the Twitterverse after 4 pm tomorrow (Friday).  I'm taking the advice of the pre-admissions receptionist that phoned me the other day and am only bringing my picture ID and insurance card.  Afterall, Sparrow is the same hospital where my former boss had his goverment-issued Blackberry stolen while he was being treated for a heart attack. What kind of low-life steals from someone who's having a heart attack?  In short, no smartphone for me after 10 am.

I'm hoping to spend the weekend recovering on the couch:  watching a few movies, watching the 11 episodes of Vampire Diaries that I've yet to see, and restarting my Dragon of Happiness stole.  I do need to rest and recover quickly -- I have a busy week of travel for work next week.