14 Nov Fibroids are a B!tch
For this post, I want to talk about something that is not necessarily a momma problem, but a woman problem. Fucking. Fibroids. If you are reading this and you have had a fibroid, I know you understand my pain. If you have never had an experience with fibroids, consider yourself one lucky motherfucker.
I’ve always been a pretty healthy person. I don’t have any allergies, I’ve never sprained or broken anything and I barely ever catch a cold. I never miss a routine doctor’s appointment and make sure to keep up with all of my shots. In my mind, at least until May 2013, I was the epitome of health.
About to get super TMI but since I’ve already shared the most mortifying story of my life with you all (Yellow Hat Guy) we’re like family now, right?
I’ve always had a heavy menstrual cycle, but it had started to get particularly heavy in my mid-twenties. I began to have dizzy spells and was exhausted pretty much all day every day, so I went to see my doctor. Turns out my blood levels were very low. So low, in fact, that they dropped to a dangerous level that put me at risk of losing consciousness at any moment. I had to undergo a series of tests and exams to figure out where the blood was going.
I think now is a good time to tell you all that I am the definition of “chicken shit” when it comes to my health. I guess it’s because I’ve never really had any kind of illness so when anything does happen, I automatically think the worst.
Example- Just last week, I was minding my own business and walking down the stairs when my dumb ass leg decides to goes left while my entire body was going right. I fell down the steps and landed directly on my back. A normal person would try to stand and make sure everything was okay. Not me. I was literally frozen with fear. I just laid there, stiff as a fucking board, SCREAMING for my husband. He eventually comes flying down the steps.
“Babe, are you ok?!? What happened?”
“Of course I’m not ok! I just broke my fucking back!”
“Babe, it’s not broken. Just stand up.”
“Have you lost your mind?!? You think I don’t know when my back is broken?!? I’m not standing! Call an ambulance.”
Long story short, I was fine. Not a sprain, bruise or even a scratch.
Ok so where were we. Oh yeah, so my doctor determined that my low blood level was the cause for my dizzy spells and exhaustion. But still huge amounts of blood were going missing so unless Count Dracula used me as a midnight snack every night, somebody needed to figure out where the FUCK my blood was going. FINALLY my doctor got back to me and connected the blood loss to my heavy periods, but wanted me to get an ultrasound to be sure.
Let’s fast forward to two weeks after the ultrasound. I hadn’t heard anything from my doctor, so I assumed I was all good. That is until the nurse called me and said I needed to come in ASAP. Before the panic was able to set in, I decided to put my big girl panties on and keep my shit together until I spoke to my doctor.
Side note: You never notice all of the scary things in the doctor’s office until you think something might really be wrong. I read almost every magazine in the office while I waited in the lobby, so by the time I was called to the back, I had diagnosed myself with cystic fibrosis, chronic gastritis and early menopause. I had also read some pamphlets on early retirement plans, Life Alert and “Preparing for Hospice” so I was fairly certain I only had six to eight months to live. I started writing up a draft of my will in the Notes app on my iPhone. Saying I was a mess is an understatement.
So now I’m in the room with my doctor, who is an extremely skilled and knowledgeable OBGYN. She is amazing, but she is also very cut throat and straight to the point. “Ok Katryce, you have a pretty big fibroid. About the size of a softball. We’re going to have to remove it very soon because it is taking up quite a bit of your blood supply. Today I am going to do a biopsy just to make sure it’s not cancerous. “
All I heard was:
“You’re gonna die.” (Thank God I started working on my will in the lobby.)
I. Lost. My. Shit. First of all, what the fuck is a fibroid and why isn’t there any information out there in the waiting room?!? At this point, the tears are flowing like I was watching a “This Is Us” marathon. I’m literally texting my family what’s going on as my pink pocket is hoisted up in the medical chair and the doctor is poking and probing at my lady parts. How is this even happening to me? I’ve never even had an ear infection and now I have to have surgery on my boom box? This can’t be real life.
Not so fun fact – A fibroid is benign smooth muscle tumor of the uterus. Basically it’s a little pink monster that grows on your uterus and has a very hard time letting go.
My surgery was scheduled to take place three weeks later and I was beyond terrified. I couldn’t sleep at all the night before and oddly enough it had nothing to do with the surgery itself. It was the fact that I couldn’t eat after midnight. Has everyone in this world gone insane?!? You wanna cut through my abs, dissect my damn uterus, remove a fibroid and I gotta do that shit on an empty stomach? Food is my life! This is inhumane!
Anyway, I pull up to the hospital and had my whole damn crew there. My parents, my then boyfriend (now husband), my sisters, both my best friends and a bottle of Merlot just in case the Percocet took too long to kick in after the surgery. Everyone was clearly irritated that I forced them to be at the hospital at 7 am for this “very routine, outpatient, 99% success rate” surgery according to my doctor. But I didn’t care what anyone thought. In my mind I was having open heart surgery with a rusty blade and everyone needed to pay their last respects.
I was rolled into the operating room and all I remember the nurse saying is “I’m going to count down from 10. 9. 8…” and then I woke up in a hospital room to the same nurse asking “How are you feeling?” How am I feeling? HOW AM I FEELING?!? I’m feeling like my hoo-haw just got torn to shreds, lady! Shortly after, my doctor visited me with a beautiful picture of my fibroid, uterus and ovaries to show me what they removed and how large it was. If I’m being honest, I had no clue what I was looking at, but it’s not every day that you are able to see your baby making factory so I did what any logical thinking human being would do- I asked to keep the picture, which she reluctantly gave to me. I also asked to keep my fibroid, which she did not give me.
When I got home I milked the hell out of my surgery. Everyone was waiting on me hand and foot and I was loving every second of it! Technically the recovery process was only supposed to be 5-7 days and they gave me enough pain meds to put down an adult elephant so I was set. The pain practically went away by day two and I barely touched my Percocet but I was enjoying the pampered lifestyle way too much to let anyone know. No kids. No work. Nothing but my DVR and endless ramen noodles. It was the life.
In the end, fibroid surgery wasn’t that bad. My biggest fear was whether or not I could get pregnant again and deliver my child safely. I am happy to report that I delivered a big ass baby boy, Ashton, 10 months ago. The fibroid wasn’t cancerous and even though there were a few more fibroids in there, they were small enough that we didn’t have to worry. Don’t get me wrong, it was one of the scariest experiences of my life, but I made it out with my cooter still intact.
So ladies, make sure you stay up to date on all of your OBGYN appointments and pay attention to changes in your cha cha. Has one dealt with this little (or big) fucker named Fibroid? Let’s talk about it.