A few of you more pathetic losers out there who have nothing better to do with your lives than follow The Fates of Norinew may remember that last February (yep, almost a year ago), I had a total abdominal hysterectomy.
For about six weeks afterwards, the incision was, ummmm, draining (sorry!) and I understood this was pretty much par for the course. After about two months, only one small part of the incision was still draining. So I called the doc who did the surgery and she had me come in. She looked around, poked and prodded (ouch!) and said, well, give it another six weeks or so. It should be fine.
So I give it another six weeks. Still have an open wound where there should (by now) be none. So I go back. She refers me to a surgeon, who orders a CTScan. Surgeon (local doc) looks at the scan and says “well, it looks like you may have a fistual; that’s very tricky to fix. I won’t do it here. You’ll have to find a doctor at a bigger hospital”. Fortunately, I know a surgeon in Baltimore, so I go to see him. He orders something called a fistulagram, which specifically checks for fistulas (fistulae?). There’s no fistula (which would mean the wound opens into the lower bowel; a very complex and risky surgery). Well, thank goodness for that!
So, Baltimore doc tells me to “give it two more months” and call back if it still isn’t healed. Two months later; we’re into mid-summer now. Still no healing. I call him back. He tells me that I need to go to a wound-care clinic. The fates are with me, there’s one right here in my rinky-dink little town! So I get a referral from my PCP, and am off to the wound clinic! My physical therapist, Jim, who is also certified in wound care, pokes, prods, cleans, disinfects the wound. By the third visit (thank God for good insurance!) he removes an abscess! In the wound! :eek: “There!” he says, as if something is settled. “That should fix it!” But two visits later, it’s not healing. He pokes, prods and disinfects some more. Every visit, just for fun, he gives me different instructions: “Only shower on the days you’re coming to see me; otherwise, it’s sponge baths” or “Shower every day and squirt this powdered colloidal silver in the wound and redress it” or “Dance outside naked with the full moon and celebrate your womanhood” (OK, that last was hyperbole; seriously, though, it got to a point where I had to freakin’ take notes!)
Over the next several visits, he manages to remove two bits of suture that have become infected. Both times, he’s convinced this is the “root of the problem” and that I’m more than halfway to being all better. Both times he’s wrong. He says there are at least two more sutures up there that are beyond where he can reach them, and maybe it’s time for surgery. I tell him I’ve already seen Dr. B, the local surgeon, and she says there’s nothing she can do. He says “I know Dr. B. Lemme call her” (it doesn’t hurt that Jim is quite the charmer and looks like Ray Liotta). He calls with me still in the room, on the gurney. He mumbles into the phone, hangs up and says “Call her tomorrow to make an appointment”.
So, the following Thursday (a week ago tomorrow), I go to see her. She takes a look, prods and pokes around, and says “Well, we’re gonna have to open you up to take a look”.
Meantime, she schedules a CT Scan with both oral (Ugh! Yuck!) and IV contrast, just to make sure there’s nothing going on but the stray sutures (I’m sure this was a CYA gesture for her; previous CT Scan and fistulagram have shown nothing complex). She also schedules me for surgery, Wednesday Jan. 28th.
IF it’s only sutures (which we believe it is), it’s same-day surgery. In that morning, out that evening, holding a 'script for a bottle of happy-meds in my hot little hand.
I’ve had lots and lots (way more than most people my age) of surgeries and surgical procedures. Still, it’s a little overwhelming and frightening.
So, if you’ve got any good wishes/prayers/good vibes to spare, I’d appreciate them.
The only ‘fun’ will come post-op when I get good drugs!