I spoke too soon
OK, first, don't panic. (Hmm, this post already sounds like my chicken pox post from last year at roughly this time, doesn't it?)
Just to let you know, that after my assertions in my last post that everything was hunkydory, I went for a routine check-up and after a series of unfortunate events, several doctors' visits, second opinions, three types of scan and lots of blood tests, I had to undergo major abdominal surgery on 13 September.
I am at home recuperating now and have, once again, been booked of work for weeks on end, less than a year after my near-fatal bout with chicken pox. I am surprised my colleagues are still talking to me or that I even still have a job in these recessionary times.
To cut a long and unpleasant story short, my second doctor's visit in the middle of August showed that the unidentified cyst on my right ovary didn't respond to hormones. The doctor sent me for an MRI to get a closer look and clearly the technicians couldn't believe what they were seeing, because I was sent for another MRI scan and a CT scan. They found a growth the size of a TV remote control in the lower left side of my pelvis. The doctor recommended radical surgery.
I felt uncomfortable with that and consulted my nephrologist who agreed it was a bit too much surgery for someone in my situation (having had a transplant). We found someone who gave a second opinion. He did more exams, a sonar and some blood tests, which revealed that my cancer markers were raised.
The markers weren't very high, but higher than normal (instead of being below 30, they were 104). So I was advised to have surgery as soon as possible. The surgeon gave me a cartalogue of things he'd have to remove if it were cancer. I wondered what I'd have left inside and whether they'd put in some stuffing to prevent my stomach falling into my gut cavity.
It was round about here that my stress levels became almost unbearable. Oddly enough, what scared me more than the prospect of ovarian cancer or a lymphoma, were flashbacks to my last two surgeries nearly 20 years ago. Both were traumatic.
I ended up having anxiety attacks and PTSD (I could even remember how the ward smelt when I had my transplant - it smelt of hinitaine, other cleaning agents I couldn't identify and old oats porridge). So I had long conversations with both the surgeon and the anaethetist, both of whom explained that pain control and anaesthesia had developed a lot in the last couple of decades. I also made them explain in minute detail how exactly they planned on going about the procedure. They did this too.
To cut a long story short, they were right. I had absolutely no pain, minimal nausea and good in-hospital treatment. And, best of all, the growth was benign. It was an endometrioma that turned out to be even bigger than the scans revealed. It took up most of my pelvis and was twined in my Fallopian tubes. My ovaries were peppered with endometriosis (didn't even know I had it) and covered with large cysts (some which didn't show up on the scan either). But, despite this, the surgeon saved all my body parts. I lost nothing, other than a massive growth that wasn't meant to be there in the first place. He told me it was one of the bigger ones he's seen. I am disturbed that I was unaware of it for so long.
Now all I have to show for it is a healing scar from pubis to navel (it links my old abdominal catheter scar to my transplant scar, in the form of a crokked "Z") and residual tiredness from the drugs. I feel better already, despite all of this. I can't begin to describe how wonderful it feels to have your internal organs back where they should be. I look much slimmer too. Yoga should be much easier now.
So, worry not. I am on the mend and in the clear. I am, however, almost afraid to guess at what I might contract or develop in 2011.
Just to let you know, that after my assertions in my last post that everything was hunkydory, I went for a routine check-up and after a series of unfortunate events, several doctors' visits, second opinions, three types of scan and lots of blood tests, I had to undergo major abdominal surgery on 13 September.
I am at home recuperating now and have, once again, been booked of work for weeks on end, less than a year after my near-fatal bout with chicken pox. I am surprised my colleagues are still talking to me or that I even still have a job in these recessionary times.
To cut a long and unpleasant story short, my second doctor's visit in the middle of August showed that the unidentified cyst on my right ovary didn't respond to hormones. The doctor sent me for an MRI to get a closer look and clearly the technicians couldn't believe what they were seeing, because I was sent for another MRI scan and a CT scan. They found a growth the size of a TV remote control in the lower left side of my pelvis. The doctor recommended radical surgery.
I felt uncomfortable with that and consulted my nephrologist who agreed it was a bit too much surgery for someone in my situation (having had a transplant). We found someone who gave a second opinion. He did more exams, a sonar and some blood tests, which revealed that my cancer markers were raised.
The markers weren't very high, but higher than normal (instead of being below 30, they were 104). So I was advised to have surgery as soon as possible. The surgeon gave me a cartalogue of things he'd have to remove if it were cancer. I wondered what I'd have left inside and whether they'd put in some stuffing to prevent my stomach falling into my gut cavity.
It was round about here that my stress levels became almost unbearable. Oddly enough, what scared me more than the prospect of ovarian cancer or a lymphoma, were flashbacks to my last two surgeries nearly 20 years ago. Both were traumatic.
I ended up having anxiety attacks and PTSD (I could even remember how the ward smelt when I had my transplant - it smelt of hinitaine, other cleaning agents I couldn't identify and old oats porridge). So I had long conversations with both the surgeon and the anaethetist, both of whom explained that pain control and anaesthesia had developed a lot in the last couple of decades. I also made them explain in minute detail how exactly they planned on going about the procedure. They did this too.
To cut a long story short, they were right. I had absolutely no pain, minimal nausea and good in-hospital treatment. And, best of all, the growth was benign. It was an endometrioma that turned out to be even bigger than the scans revealed. It took up most of my pelvis and was twined in my Fallopian tubes. My ovaries were peppered with endometriosis (didn't even know I had it) and covered with large cysts (some which didn't show up on the scan either). But, despite this, the surgeon saved all my body parts. I lost nothing, other than a massive growth that wasn't meant to be there in the first place. He told me it was one of the bigger ones he's seen. I am disturbed that I was unaware of it for so long.
Now all I have to show for it is a healing scar from pubis to navel (it links my old abdominal catheter scar to my transplant scar, in the form of a crokked "Z") and residual tiredness from the drugs. I feel better already, despite all of this. I can't begin to describe how wonderful it feels to have your internal organs back where they should be. I look much slimmer too. Yoga should be much easier now.
So, worry not. I am on the mend and in the clear. I am, however, almost afraid to guess at what I might contract or develop in 2011.