Iron In My Blood

Do you plan on having children?

A question that I've been asked increasingly as I get older.

When I was younger, my dream was to be a writer with a husband who made enough money for me to stay home, write, and homeschool our two children. I couldn't imagine a life without being a mother.

But as I got older, that line of thinking changed for me. I considered the pros and cons of having children and came to the conclusion that, while I would likely be a great mother, I didn't actually want to be one. Teaching, I've said for years, either makes you want children more or not want them at all. I am definitely in the latter camp.

I get all kinds of reactions from people when I tell them this; you'll change your mind later, your future husband may want them and it can be a relationship deal breaker, who's going to take care of you when you get old?

I've even had someone try to argue me down, saying that I was going against "a woman's purpose in life." They then proceeded to tell me that I might be one of those wonderful souls who decides to adopt.

So you can understand how I braced myself when my gynecologist asked me upon one of my many visits: "Do you plan on having children?"

"Nope."

His eyes above his mask looked surprised. "Really? I don't often hear such conviction in someone your age. Do you mind if I ask why?"

I shrugged. "I decided years ago that I didn't want them. It's just not something that I see happening in my life."

He seemed satisfied with my answer. "Well, it's my job to make sure that you're aware of your options for treatment. We can perform a laparoscopic myomectomy, where we make three incisions in your abdomen and cut the fibroid out of your uterus. There's also a rotoscopic myomectomy, which is very much like the hysteroscopy in that we insert everything in through the vaginal canal and remove it through your cervix without any incisions at all; this is likely the route we'll go, judging by where your fibroid is located. Here's the thing that I want you to consider: we can take this fibroid out, but there's a possibility that more will grow in the future. In the interest of letting you know all of your options, and considering that you don't want children - fibroids make it more difficult to get pregnant anyway - a hysterectomy is an option. I'm not expecting an answer right away, so take your time and think about it and do some research. When we get the results back from your colposcopy, we can make a decision."

Later, I told one of my friends that I was surprised that he even suggested it, considering I'm only 31. Further research on my part revealed that they are being suggested more often, which was fascinating to me.

After many discussions, however, I decided on just a myomectomy because it was the least invasive; but also because I couldn't afford to be off work for the 6 - 8 weeks required for recovery for a hysterectomy (here is where I wished I had that rich husband).

I had even considered waiting until summer to get treatment - that went out of the window when I was running through super plus tampons and the backup overnight pads within an hour of replacing them, even bleeding completely through my pants one day (thankfully they were black pants and I had gotten to work nearly 30 minutes before students arrived and was able to somewhat clean myself up). I knew then that waiting, while my periods potentially kept getting worse, wasn't an option.

While waiting for the colposcopy results, I had another hematologist appointment and heard news that I absolutely did not want to hear; the iron pills which I'd been taking since August weren't doing anything, and I would need iron infusions.

I would later find out that this was far more common than I knew; two of my colleagues and one of the pastors at my church mentioned their iron infusions.

Still, finding out two days later that this wasn't going to be a weekly appointment, but a daily (excluding the weekend) appointment for a week and a half completely broke me down, leaving me crying in my car once I got home from work that day.

Adding to my general frustration and anxiety about my health was the anxiety over how much time I'd had to take off of work. Hours here, hours there. Now I had to take off *daily* for a week and a half? It was certainly not a good look for a job I'd just started. Even with the assurances from my assistant principal that I needed to take care of my health first, I still had terrible anxiety about it.

Extremely unfortunately for me, my period started a few days before my infusions were scheduled. The Tuesday before I was taking off (the first infusion was four hours long, so I'd just taken Wednesday off), I got to work at 7:45 as usual. After breakfast duty from 8:00 - 8:25, I'd changed my pad and tampon - both soaked through. Before I headed to my first class at 9:45, I changed them both again - soaked.

Now, in two of the grade levels that I work with, I do small group rotations - I work with small groups of students on different skills for about 25 minutes each before they move to either working with the teacher or working independently. So you might understand my frustration when I had to leave in the middle of my second group - something that I rarely did - to change my soaked pad and tampon again.

By this point, I was starting to feel weak and lightheaded. I made it through the rest of class and returned to my room (thankfully just across the hallway). Though I was already feeling guilty for the time I was about to take off, I knew that I wasn't going to make it through the rest of the day. I texted my assistant principal to ask if I could go home at noon; she said yes, just leave substitute plans and tell the teachers. So from 11:00 - 12:00, I uploaded work that the students could do on their own and talked to the teachers, then went home.

I was absolutely miserable, looking forward to the next Friday when I'd finally have the follow-up meeting with my gyno to discuss treatment before getting my iron transfusion. I'd never felt so weak and helpless in my life, and there was really nothing that I could do about it.

The rest of the day was filled with attempts to keep me from overthinking and stressing myself out. When I got the reminder call about the next day's appointment, I asked three questions: Should I take my iron pill? Can I bring snacks? Can I bring someone with me?

Don't take your pill, and bring who or whatever you need to help make you more comfortable.

So the next morning, wearing joggers, tennis shoes, and a comfy t-shirt, and armed with a book, snacks, and my laptop, I headed to the hematologist's office. The "whoever" to make me more comfortable was a close friend who'd been supporting me throughout the whole ordeal; he managed to get a few hours off of work and met me in the office.

He could tell I was anxious; my heel was tapping on the floor, and my hands were shaking slightly. Even his calm words of comfort went in one ear and out the other - if I even heard him over the nervous beating of my heart. Finally, I was called back and given the directions for that appointment and the subsequent ones. Then I settled in the recliner - though, just my luck, I picked the one that didn't recline - and waited for the nurse to come over and get everything started.

Even though I'd been poked with my fair share of needles in the past few months, I still winced when she placed the IV. She explained that the first hour would be Benadryl to combat any allergic reaction, then an hour of the smaller dose of iron, then the full dose with an hour afterward to watch for any reactions. The rest of my appointments would only be an hour.

Some of you may know how hard Benedryl can knock you upside your head. For most of that first hour, I was dozing while trying to fight against it because I felt bad for sleeping while my friend was there. Then the rest of the infusion continued. We talked a little, but mostly he just was there for me.

Across the room I could see other patients in the bay, separated from each other by drawn curtains. It was a mixture of iron infusions - some for women who looked my age - and chemotherapy treatments. Everyone else that I saw looked comfortable, reading newspapers or chatting with the person they'd brought with them. I couldn't help but think: What am I even doing here??

After two hours, my friend had to head back to work with a promise that he'd check in with me after he got off that evening. I'll admit that I cried after he left; as I think back on it, I realize that I was still amazed that he would take that time to come practically in the middle of the workday just to sit with me.

As time goes on, I realize that I have so many friends who would have done the exact same thing, had I asked. I don't know why it is so hard for me to wrap my head around how much love and support I have around me, even though I know that it's there.

The rest of the infusion went fine; I went home tired, but alright. The next few days I was achy and tired, but slowly began to get more energized.

Then the weekend happened.

I was told not to take my iron pills over the weekend, even though I wasn't getting infusions Saturday or Sunday. Monday I went to work as usual...and felt like walking death. I had so little energy, and walking up the stairs to my classroom was all that I could manage; I limited my walking, using the smaller bathroom on the same floor and only going down to warm up my lunch in the teacher's lounge before I left early for that day's infusion. If that was what going off of iron was going to be like, I was never going to forget it.

I grew more relaxed with the infusions themselves, bringing a book to read and occupying my thoughts for the hour, then heading home to get ready to do it all over again.

One of my nurses informed me that they could leave the port in my arm, since I was coming every day that week, to save me from having to get stuck every day. I thought this was a great idea. I was wrong.

I was hyper-paranoid about it getting wet or coming out; the wrap was in a spot that made bending my arm near impossible, borderline painful. I explained to a curious child who saw the bright pink on my arm that I didn't have enough iron in my blood, and that's why I was going to the doctor every day. His response? "You have metal in your blood???"

The port lasted all of two days before I asked the nurse to take it out and just stick me again the next day.

Finally, Friday - the last day of infusions and the follow-up appointment with my gyno - arrived. The gyno was first; everything came back negative, and there were no signs of anything cancerous. "So now the decision is up to you. Based on what you've told me, your periods are only getting worse, so doing nothing isn't really an option. I would suggest the rotoscopic myomectomy as soon as possible if you're not leaning towards the hysterectomy. You don't have to answer right now..."

"Yes. Let's do it."

"Alright then! So the surgery will be at the hospital; the front desk will give you all of the information that you need. The surgery itself, once you're anesthetized, will probably take all of fifteen minutes. A lot of women actually go back to work two days after, but you do what seems best for you." He walked me to the front desk and gave the lady a few directions before patting me on the shoulder. "Well, if I don't see you before then, happy holidays!"

I went to my iron infusion appointment with a rush of feelings. Elation that my infusions were done and that there would finally be a resolution to this journey that had started in August. And...fear and anxiety. I'd never had anything worse than a wisdom tooth extraction, so surgery...? That was terrifying.