The year that I spent with an umbilical hernia that doctors could not find

In today’s society, it is expected to be able to trust a doctor. Sometimes they’re wrong, but most times they’re right. In the past year, I managed to stump nine doctors. Three of them being emergency room doctors. One of them finally helped me, but he too, was left stumped. I’ve lost so much time being in pain, jumping around doctors, getting bloodwork and appointments that led nowhere.

It started last May with unusual pain in my stomach. Well after I had completely healed from a c-section. This was my first one. I thought that it was normal to be gaining weight and having pain from the weight gain because I was on the Depo shot. It’s a normal side effect. Only, I’d been under one hundred pounds most of my life and I didn’t know that weight gain wasn’t supposed to cause pain.

By that November, my fiancé, was getting highly upset with the pain, lethargy, and overall low sex drive. I saw my primary care doctor. A wonderful lady. New to the field, but wonderful. She recommended that I change birth control to see if that would help. It did...and then it didn’t. Bloodwork came back. I had an autoimmune disorder. My white blood cell count was RIDICULOUS. I was over fifty times higher than the normal count. So begins what I call, the doctor hop. The date was set for a visit to the Rheumatologist.

The first Emergency Room visit, my doctor had sent me to the emergency room for a CT scan because I was in severe amounts of pain. This was right in the middle of the Covid boom. Emergency rooms were a mess. I waited for four hours. Finally got back there and got bloodwork. Got forcibly Covid tested, talked to a doctor who couldn’t keep track of what I was saying. Told me that he’s very sure that I had Covid and would talk to me further about the bloodwork. He came back three hours later to tell me that everything was okay, he wasn’t going to do the work my doctor wanted and that he was pretty sure that I had Covid. He sent me home defeated. Three days later, my Covid test came back. Negative.

I saw the Rheumatologist a few days later. During this visit, we discussed further blood work and an ultrasound of my spleen. Apparently the Emergency Room forgot to tell me I had MRSA. She also noticed that my mid-section region was a bit tender to the touch. This girl was nice. Nicer than all of the doctors after her were. She ordered an ultrasound to make sure my spleen wasn’t affected by the MRSA. It wasn’t. She said that it’ll go away by itself in a few weeks with no medication. That’s also when they found the liver mass. The doctor thought that the issue was solved. So she dismissed my case and sent me to see a Gastroenterologist.

While waiting for my appointment, I had another episode. Not just pain this time. I was throwing up as well. I called my primary care doctor who had me go to an emergency room in a different area, and get the tests done that she originally wanted. They followed her orders, blew out my veins with the iodine delivery machine, but finally gave me an answer that slightly made sense. I had diastasis recti. My abdominal walls were separating. Mostly from a mixture of a C-section, weight gain, and pure nature. I was given muscle relaxers because surgery to fix it is not covered by my insurance.

Enter (and shortly exit) the Gastroenterologist. Here was another young doctor. He and I had one appointment. He reviewed the mass, and said that they’ll check it every few years. Masses that start in the liver are usually benign. He wasn’t concerned and urged me not to be concerned either. I understood that. Somewhere in me, I knew that this wasn’t the cause of my pain.

I worked on losing weight. I worked hard and even had a Dietitian. Unfortunately, the pain was still there. Only, it was getting worse. I had lost thirty pounds, and my pain was getting worse, not better. That’s when Emergency Room visit number three happened. My fiancé made me go. I didn’t want to, but I had been throwing up for days and unable to sleep because of pain.

I had a different doctor doing my exam than the first one, even though it was at the same hospital. He ran additional blood work and gave me another CT scan (mostly because of my fiancé's presence in the situation.) He said that my diastasis recti wasn’t getting worse, and it wasn’t getting better. Because I was still in pain, and it wasn’t healing on it’s own, he was going to send me to a surgeon. I left with my referrals and made the appointment. Finally, someone who knew what they were talking about. Little did I know just how bad it was.

I saw the surgeon. He pressed around my belly button a little, looked at my scans, and said “You have an umbilical hernia.” He said it wasn’t visible in the previous scans though. He couldn’t quite understand why it didn’t show. He scheduled me for surgery in two weeks. I spent that time prepping for my recovery. Unfortunately, during the surgery, it was revealed that my hernia was strangulated. Meaning that a piece of fat got stuck outside the abdominal wall. It was being squeezed and could turn gangrenous. A typical every day surgery soon turned into a life threatening situation.

Thankfully, they were already in for a hernia repair, so everything they needed to fix me was right there. I have an eight centimeter diameter mesh implant in my stomach now. Everything, including the nurses were a nightmare the entire way through though. Surgery was scheduled for 9:30am. I was to arrive at 7:30am. 6:30am I sat in the waiting room and mentally prepared. Little did I know that it would be another excruciating four to five hours after 9:30am before I even got back for surgery.

I was sent home afterwards to recover with (thanks to many abusers) very few painkillers. The first few days were rough. I couldn’t so much as breathe without pain. I even got a cane and a grabber to help me around the house. It’s been nine days now. The pain is minimal, and the doctor says I’m healing well. Physically, that may be true. Mentally, that is the complete other side of the bridge. It’s hard coming to terms with having a life threatening situation. For the fact that no doctor could find what was wrong. We’re taught to know our bodies and if something is wrong, go to a doctor.

I’m terrified to go back to the doctors now. My fiance and I are considering a lawsuit for the year that I lost. The missed time with my children. The pain that kept me from being able to even consider a job. I’ve taken up writing about my life and my memories to help myself through the traumas that I’ve gone through in my life. No one should ever have to feel like this. Unfortunately, in our society, this is normal. Maybe, one day, my story will inspire others. For now, I just need it to heal me.