I mean, unless you have to. I’m writing this post on Percocet. We shall see if it makes my writing better or worse. For science.
Since you know I don’t do recreational drugs, that should be a clue that I’m not doing much better physically. In fact, since my last post, I’ve had another ER trip where they admitted me and gave me two more units of blood, some different meds, and then sent me on my merry way.
I wasn’t very merry actually. I may have screamed and cried and yelled at a lot of people when I found out they were discharging me. I mean, you can’t just keep pouring more blood in and not stop the actual leak. I was fairly certain I’d be back there again shortly. (That hasn’t yet proven to be the case, as it was eleven days ago.)
I met with my OB this week, and we scheduled surgery for December 12. I’ve been against this hysterectomy business for a long time. I guess on some level I wanted the possibility of having a baby, which was more reasonable as a newly divorced 34 year-old than it was as a still divorced 44 year-old. Plus I just feel like this is medicine’s answer for anything “wrong” with a woman. “Take out her female parts!”
However, now that I’ve been having a period for going on three months straight and had that cause me to need three units of blood and prescription pain killers, I’m done with these parts. I want them GONE. (I sense they maybe want me gone. And if only one of us is surviving this, it’s gonna be me.)
I’m on a heavy dose of progesterone in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It hasn’t stopped it. But it’s lessened enough that I can leave my house at least. It’s not without side effects though. I’m very emotional, sometimes for good reason, and sometimes not so much. I left Thanksgiving dinner in tears, essentially because my tummy hurt and I was cold.
I mean, my tummy hurt as in, I’m on prescription painkillers I take every six hours and it had been 10 hours. I was cold as in having chills and when I got home I had a fever of 100.5. But don’t panic. This is just my life now. My latest trick is spiking a fever of about that level each evening and curling up with heating pads, blankets, and dogs in an attempt to get warm. Then somewhere about 4:00 a.m. I wake up drenched in a pool of sweat (with a normal body temperature.) I suppose waking up in a pool of my own sweat is preferable to waking up in a pool of my own blood, which was the old game plan. But it’s still not pleasant. I usually get up, change clothes, turn on a fan, and roll to the other side of my giant bed. Hmmm…this giant bed comes in handy when one has night sweats.
I asked the doctor if he could do anything else for me in the meantime, since we couldn’t schedule surgery for a few weeks. He said hormonally, we’ve tried everything. Pain wise, sure, have some Percocet. Again, I’m not much into altering my mind with artificial substances, but whoa. I mean, when you’ve been in that much pain for that long, it changes who you are. It truly does. I came home that night, took a pill, and within about 30 minutes, I felt fine. I mean FINE. Not high. Not loopy. Not bouncing off the walls. Fine. It was so unbelievably awesome to feel fine, that I totally see how people get addicted to these things.
However, I can’t take these narcotics and drive or work. So, I’m relegated to feeling fine when I’m at home, which really sucks. Not gonna lie. It’s been nice to be off for a few days over the holiday and be able to take the meds and feel fine. I’m dreading Monday, and not for the same reason everyone else is.
I’m counting the days until the 12th, and I’m eager for this “brand new woman” the doctor assures me I will be afterward. Generally I’ve been pretty pleased with the woman I already am. But she’s in a lot of pain, and she’s bleeding a lot, and she’s tired and moody and sweaty. I think I could be phenomenal if I could get rid of all that.