Dearest Readers,
I couldn't wait any longer to share my experiences with the rest of the sea, that I haven't yet finished writing about my medical journey thus far! Make sure to check back for more soon!
Swimmingly yours,

Becoming Lady Needs-to-Sit

That one short walk, mask covering my mouth (and nose!), was one of the longest of my entire life. Having a hysterectomy in December of 2020 was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. But I had three years of hell beforehand, and I’m going on year four of hell afterward. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves now shall we? There are many variations to tell the tale of a timeline of events; I’m choosing to organize mine by surgery. 6 surgeries in the past 6 years. Are you ready? Buckle up buttercup, you’re in for a bumpy ride.

Were you in an accident? Were you injured? How did this start?

2016

To quote one of the greatest 80's icons, Ferris Bueller: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.". And boy do I relate. I was so excited for my life to keep moving forward. To hit those traditional rights of passage, those moments I grew to cherish celebrating for those ahead of me in years of life. Graduating college; falling in love; engagement; marriage - the monumental milestones in one's lifetime. But even those smaller gatherings to celebrate the loved ones in our lives: engagement parties, bridal showers, bachelorette parties, baby showers, birthday milestones... I loved to celebrate my loved ones and shower them with happiness, so the idea of my own transition through life gave me great excitement.

I could go on and on about mistakes I've made in the past for being impatient with my journey. But let's focus in on a huge life change: a broken engagement, living on my own two feet, and holy crap what's that mystery pain?! But I digress...

It was a normal day at work, nothing out of the ordinary, I repeat - it was A NORMAL FREAKING DAY - no injuries, I didn't do anything that I wouldn't do on an normal, average, every other workday (for those out there who are sticklers for grammar, how 'bout that run off sentence?). But I digress... again. I was standing next to the entry of my coworker's pod (others would refer to the space as a desk, workspace, cubicle, small corner of hell, etc.), and I feel a shooting pain in my general right lower quadrant region. It felt more like in my hip socket I'd say. I yelped in pain and proceeded to put pressure on the area. Now in my past, I've had the occasional ovarian cyst rupture. Don't exit out my delicate- stomached or panties-in-a-bunch readers, it gets so much better! So I safely assumed I had another one bite the dust (ya know, pop goes the bubble...rupture goes the cyst). I made a mental note to stop by the local Giant grocery store for some boxed powdered macaroni and cheese (my forever favorite food), pizza rolls (once you bake them in the oven, you never go back to the microwave), chocolate (duh.), and the company of two of my favorite men, dairy version: Ben & Jerry's. A night of comfort, relaxation, and plenty of Bella cuddles was just what the doctor ordered, right?

Wrong.

And so it began... with my gallbladder?

2017

Days came and went. Still the pain wouldn't go away. I visited my parents in South Carolina. We couldn't do everything we planned to because I was in pain. This was the first time in my life I experienced my body failing me, restricting my desire to explore a new place. I then headed back to PA and Bella. Still pain. Pain. Getting worse it seemed the longer I tried to ignore it. Time for me to pony up and head to the doctor. And here, here my dear readers is where I was so naive. In my childhood I believed if you were sick, or if you had an injury of any kind, you went to the doctor and they gave you some sort of magical liquid or pill, maybe a dreaded shot if need be. Nevertheless, something to make that ailment or pain go away. I was so gullible to never think of questioning medical advice or treatment. Why should I have to stand up for myself to the one professional who is supposed to always look out for the best for my health? Let me break it down for you: if you have a doctor that truly is an advocate for YOU and YOUR well-being, cherish them. Because this is something that I have found is far and few between in the medical field. I could write an entire novel on that topic, but I'll spare you the sorry sob story (or at least that one for now).

After bouncing around from doctor after doctor, I landed in gastrointestinal medicine for, wait for it, pain from gallstones in my gallbladder. I'm sorry, what? I know Anatomy wasn't my best subject in high school, but even I know that the gallbladder was a good eight to nine inches from where my pain was stemming from. My brilliant surgeon's response? "The body is a strange thing. Pain from one area can radiate and present itself in a completely different part of the body." Ok, sure. You're the doc. You went through A LOT more schooling than I did. You get paid A LOT more money than I do. You know best........right?

"Anyone? Anyone? ..... Bueller?" (Ha, I love it when a reference comes back around full circle!)

And so we have the first chapter of my story my dear readers, ahem-hem - Chapter 1: Having My Gallbladder Removed For No Damn Good Reason Except To Try And Shut Me Up. And now ladies and gentlemen, mermaids, mermen, merpeople alike, witches, wizards and dragons too, let's move on because we truly have only just begun.

One diagnostic...two diagnostic...three diagnostic...sore.

2018, 2020, 2024

Have you ever been so tired that when a doctor says: "It's been a few years since your last diagnostic surgery, it might be beneficial to go back in and take another look.", you don't even bat an eyelash? Just me?

My first diagnostic OBGYN related surgery was a mess in and of itself. The doctor only took a quick look around my pelvic floor, deemed my gallbladder healthy and normal looking, and had me back out of the operating room and in post-op within twenty or so minutes. I've had lunch breaks longer than that! And yes, you did hear me correctly: my gallbladder was healthy and normal looking. Not sure how since at this point in my life I didn't have a gallbladder anymore, but the doctor knows best they say.

Well they don’t.

Sorry to burst anyone’s bubble, I believed it too. But doctors are humans, and humans make mistakes. While I would never fault a doctor for making a mistake if they take ownership of it, I have found many doctors who instead of taking responsibility, will punt you to another doctor instead. I'm not their problem anymore. Case in point, I have had 4 OBGYN surgeries by 3 different OBGYN surgeons in 2 separate healthcare networks. And while I won’t flat out rank my past doctors, I will say the way they're listed but in descending order is very curious, indeed (*wink*wink*nudge*nudge*). So here we go, in the order that I underwent (undergone? undergo?) my diagnostic surgeries with the abbreviated health networks (hey I can’t help it if you figure out who they are! *cough*cough*). We can call these Chapters 2, 3 & 6: The Fallback Surgeries - Don't Know Diagnostic Debacles. Yes, there were two more surgeries between 3 & 6, you didn't read it wrong!

Dr. Flodin (LVHN) - found a missing gallbladder, a little endo, and told me to find a different doctor because I’m just lying about my pain. We love her, don’t we merfolks?
Dr. Benton (PSH) - found pelvic congestion syndrome (something I’ve previously been shut down by doctors about before for being too young to possibly have), adenomyosis, endometriosis, and potential polycystic ovarian syndrome. Look who’s a liar now, witch.
Dr McIntyre (LVHN) - blessed me endometriosis free for now (and let's hope it stays that way!), assured me my left ovary, while may still get cysts, looked healthy, and that unfortunately my pain was not coming from anything OBGYN related. Let me just say, I believed Dr. McIntyre when he said he truly wanted to help me. He sat with me in my follow up visit and tried to brainstorm where else I could go for a possible solution for a good half hour. Thank you, Dr. McIntyre.

And so, there I was. At my most recent door closed in my face (at least it wasn’t slammed this time) by one field of medicine. I hung my head and made my way back to my good ol’ family doctor (or primary care physician for those younger than us millennial’s), Dr. Zetterberg. He’s been through this since day one with me and the real MVP for sticking with me and never ONCE suggesting my pain was psychological. Let’s all show him a moment of love readers! Dr. Z was as stumped as me. And so we went around again. But wait! I missed a surgery! Between diagnostic OBGYN’s 2 & 3 we must insert my most life changing procedure: my hysterectomy.