The Conclusion of the Matter...For Now

I don't know if I've mentioned it, but I have anxiety.

It usually only manifested when I was in a public setting. Speaking in front of others, whether colleagues for work or groups of friends, always made me nervous, shaky, and hot.

But all of my sudden health issues turned it up to 100.

After the date for my surgery was set and the iron infusions ended, I felt like I was living in a constant state of anxiety and panic. Most people would tell you that I didn't look like I was going through a lot. I'm not the person to let the entire world know what I'm feeling; only a select few knew how bad my anxiety was or even how badly I'd been feeling.

What made matters worse was the WAIT. My appointment for the diagnosis occurred on December 2nd; the surgery wouldn't happen until January 10th. Waiting always sets me on edge, but an underlying terror about getting surgery was slowly beginning to seep in, randomly seizing my thoughts and nearly driving me to tears. I was even having nightmares, dreaming that things went terribly wrong under anesthesia, that I would take longer to heal than planned, that the surgery wouldn't solve the problem.

Despite the constant reassurance from my friends - it was a fairly routine surgery, I would go home the same day, and there was no reason to be scared - I was terrified. It was constantly in my thoughts, my overthinking driving me crazy.

I told my administration about the dates that I would be out - I'd hoped to have the surgery during Christmas break so that I didn't have to use any leave time, but that didn't happen - and I was told to focus on my health and getting better, they'd do alright without me.

One day on the way home from school, I got a call from one of the nurses at the outpatient facility where I'd be having my surgery. She asked for a lot of routine information - weight, height, medications I was taking, etc. Then she proceeded to give me directions. No pain meds seven days before the surgery. Wear comfortable clothes. Who's bringing you home after the surgery? Someone needs to at least check on you routinely for the first 24 hours after the surgery. Don't wear any lotions or creams. Don't take your medicine the day of the surgery. Your surgery time is 7:30, you need to be there at 5:30. Don't eat anything after midnight.

I answered her questions calmly and took notes once I parked at my house. She told me she'd send all of the directions in writing once we got off the phone, and to let her know if I had any questions. I thanked her and hung up the phone.

Five minutes later I texted my friend who had gone to the iron infusion with me and was going to take me to the hospital. "I've been sitting in the car crying and scared since I got off the phone."

He patiently repeated his calming words, reminding me that things would be so much better after the surgery and that there was nothing to be scared about.

I had two more doctor's appointments that week. One to my primary care doctor for my pre-op exam, drawing blood, testing urine, etc. The second to the hematologist, who finally gave me some good news: my iron levels had finally risen to where they were supposed to be, and I wouldn't need any more infusions.

Christmas break was worse, in a way. Without work to distract me, I had plenty of time to sit and think of doom and gloom, looking up the surgery and reading about others' experiences. Christmas dinner with my dad and stepmom helped for a bit, but then I was back to stressing.

To make matters worse, my period started the day after Christmas and was the worse I'd ever had. As soon as my parents left my house, I was immediately curled up in a ball in my bed on the verge of tears with debilitating cramps. I spent most of the break alternating between the bed and the couch, a heating pad moving with me but afraid to take any pain meds leading up to my surgery.

The week back to school after Christmas break was a blur, combining exhaustion from the stress, anxiety, and bleeding to make me struggle through each day. After I turned in my lesson plans for the week that I'd be out, I headed home and promptly took a nap.

I got my hair braided the day before, giving myself uninterrupted time to read while also taking something off of my plate. I got a phone call at around 5 - the office manager from the gyno. There was a problem with the equipment needed for my surgery, and my time was pushed back to 10:30.

She texted at 5:30, telling me the final time would be at 2:30.

Great. My anxiety loved that.

My friend again patiently listened to my anxiety and reassured me that everything was going to be alright.

We arrived at the hospital at 12 - I didn't have to be there until 12:30, but my friend had the very "dad" concern that we'd run into traffic and be late. I checked in and was almost immediately pulled to do paperwork, then back into the pre-op room to get my vitals and change into the gown.

My blood pressure was high, as usual, and the nurse had to check it again once I'd lain down. I got my first ever hand IV - hurt way more than my inner elbow - and settled down to wait. I was so overwhelmed that I didn't think to leave my purse - containing a book and my phone - with my friend in the waiting room, and it was whisked away with my clothes and put into a locker.

Then my friend was allowed back to wait with me for the two hours leading up to my actual surgery time.

My friend was the absolute best person to have been with me. He's the kind of person that is the best example of zen that I've ever seen and kept me preoccupied while we waited.

First came the anesthesiologist, explaining to me that he'd first give me drugs through my IV, and then I'd have a mask placed over my nose and mouth once in the operating room. Then came my doctor, explaining the procedure once more and laying out my after-surgery restrictions and expectations - I'd possibly be bleeding for a week or longer, it depended on each case. When he asked if I had any questions, I shook my head. "I'm just ready to get it over with."

My friend asked if I'd have any restrictions on what I could eat afterward. Did I mention I'd brought the right person with me?

Finally, the ER nurse came and introduced herself and the anesthesiologist returned to start the process. I said goodbye to my friend as I felt cold in my IV and was wheeled down the hall. I started feeling the effects, but to my disconcertion, I was still awake. I absolutely was hoping that I wouldn't be awake to see the operating room...but I found myself being asked to shift myself over from the gurney to the operating table.

The last thing that I remember is the nurses stretching out my arms and wrapping my legs in pressure cuffs.

The next thing I remember was a nurse asking me where my pain level was and bringing me juice and crackers to take the pain pill with. The closest thing that I can compare this with was the feeling of being drunk; I felt like I was in a fog, aware of things going on around me but feeling like I wasn't all there.

My friend later told me that he was allowed to come back and see me twice before I was discharged; I only remember one of them, when I told him to take my purse with the car keys in it. I was slowly coming more aware of everything, and I was moved to another room to change back into the matching pajama set from my mom that I'd worn to the hospital and my coat before easing into the wheelchair and being pushed outside.

My friend took me first to Jersey Mike's for a sandwich, then ran into CVS to get me Gatorade and pain meds before taking me home. "You did it!" He congratulated. "It's over!"

I think that I was still drugged up enough that I wasn't fully realizing that yes, it was over. While there's still a chance in the future that I'll have more fibroids, this immediate nightmare was over.

The rest of the week was spent at home; the pain wasn't ever terrible, more like a dull ache. I returned to work the next week (even though I wished I could have stayed out longer) and moved gingerly to keep from making anything worse as I continued to heal. The bleeding lasted for three weeks, merging with my regularly scheduled period the final week.

At my post-op appointment, my gyno praised my healing process and told me that we'll wait a few periods to see if things were better. If they weren't, I could come back in after a few months and we could discuss birth control to help regulate my period - otherwise, he'd see me at my next annual exam.

A week or two afterward, I went to the hematologist, who confirmed that my iron level was holding steady where it was supposed to be. My next appointment isn't until April, and I might be able to stop taking iron altogether.

February was really a marvel. I wasn't at doctor's appointments every week, and my period was so much better. My anxiety has calmed all the way down - don't worry, she'll find something to freak out about, but it can't be as bad as it was before - and the only thing I'm honestly still dealing with is the medical bills, which is to be expected.

I cannot express enough how important it is to have a tribe around you. I categorically would not have made it through this whole thing without them, from encouraging words, listening to my freakouts, and giving hugs and prayers. If you don't have a tribe like that, get one! It makes all the difference.

I decided to write about this whole experience because conditions like fibroids and anemia are far more common than I realized until they became my problems.

If you get anything out of this, I hope it's to take care of yourself! Ladies, go to the doctor and encourage the women that you know to go as well - many of us are suffering in silence because we've been led to believe that things like heavy bleeding and terrible cramps are just "part of being a woman." Don't believe it! Go to the doctor, ask the questions. Advocate for yourself!

For now, the trauma is something I'm healing from and working through. There are many other things in my life to take my attention, and I'm glad that I can finally move on.

Thus concludes the matter.