In my last post, I introduced you to the wonderful Dr. Paul Zarutskie at the Texas Children’s Pavilion for Women Family Fertility Center. He correctly diagnosed me with a septate uterus and suggested surgery to resect the septum that divided my uterus.
This would be my first surgery ever. I’d never even had so much as a wisdom tooth pulled up until this point! Dr. Zarutskie was confident that he could adequately resect my uterus and hopefully increase my chances of carrying a pregnancy to term. I was immediately put on birth control to manage my menstrual cycles until my surgery.
I had hoped that we would be able to do the surgery within a few weeks, but instead my surgery was scheduled for almost two months later. This was the first of many “hurry up and wait” instances that I endured over the following year. Waiting is the worst!
Finally, the surgery was scheduled for December 16, 2015.
(The following paragraph contains descriptions of a medical procedure, and reader discretion is advised. The story continues below the next paragraph.)
Resecting a uterine septum is a minor surgery, and patients typically go home after a few hours of recovery. It is performed under general anesthesia. During the surgery, a hysteroscope is inserted into the uterus through the vagina, and a laparoscope is inserted into the abdomen. The surgeon then begins cauterising and removing the septum, bit by bit. As the septum is removed, he watches the laparoscope, which is trained at the top of the outside of the uterus. At some point during the resection, the uterus will literally open up, regaining its full and proper shape. The surgeon will also use the laparoscope to monitor that the uterus is not perforated during the procedure.
(Squeamish readers return here!)
Finally, it was the night before the surgery. In my meeting with pre-op, I was told to shower before bed and then wipe myself down with some wipes in order to help cleanse my body for the surgery. The wipes made my skin itch. All night. I had to wipe myself again from head to toe before we left for the hospital.
My mom met Chad and I at the hospital at 6am. We got a primo parking spot for once since the parking garage was nearly empty!
We took the elevator to the 5th floor, and I was quickly taken back to pre-op. The nurse asked me questions like: “Do you know the surgery you are having today? Is anyone forcing you to proceed with this procedure?” and finally, “Do you want your mother and husband here with you today?” Apparently this is standard procedure, but I’m glad that it’s done to protect patients! It’s scary to think about a woman answering these questions differently than I did.
The nurse then started an IV (something I’d never had before). Chad and my mom were allowed back into the pre-op room and we began to make jokes as we waited for me to be taken back for surgery.
At about 7:30, Dr. Zarutskie, his fellow, his assistant, the anesthesiologist, and two or three nurses all crowded into my pre-op room for a meeting before they took me back. I was again asked, “Do you know what surgery you are having today?”
This time I responded with a grin: “Yes, sir. It’s a cooter rootering!” Nervous glances shot around the room from the surgical team. Dr Zarutskie asked, “Did my fellow say that?”
I laughed and said, “No, my husband did! If you can’t laugh about this stuff, it sure gets awkward quickly!” Everyone began laughing. Then I gave the scary science name for the surgery I was having: resection of a uterine septum performed via hysteroscopic procedure with laparoscopy to obtain visualization.
The anesthesiologist's assistant took my glasses from me, gave them to Chad (no contacts or glasses allowed), and then injected a fun little cocktail into my IV. I was wheeled to the OR.
Dr. Zarutskie was walking next to my gurney, and I began crying. He held my hand, his cold hands enough to provide warm comfort as we entered the OR.
I cried because I was terrified. I’d never heard of needing surgery to have a baby (even a minor day surgery).
Dr. Zarutskie left my side, and the nurses helped me onto the bed. I struggled to take in every detail of the room, but without my glasses and with the cocktail starting to work its magic I couldn’t get very much. I did notice that the OR was huge, and that there were people and machines everywhere. I saw two screens next to the table, which I assumed were the screens for the laparoscope and hysteroscope.
I lay down on the table; it was soft and squishy. Dr. Zarutskie returned to my side, and I felt his cold fingers grip my hands again. I could smell his aftershave. These memories of the day are still strong, since my special cocktail and lack of glasses meant I was relying on my other senses.
A mask was placed over my face, and just like in the movies (but with tears in my eyes), I started counting down: 10, 9...then nothing.
No comments:
Post a Comment