Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Endo out the wazoo

Today was "post-op appointment day”. It’s a day filled with crazy, mixed emotions for me. I get torn between wanting to know the details of the lap and wanting to hide in ignorance from it all. 

For someone with endometriosis, "post-op appointment day” is never what we want it to be. If it was, then we wouldn’t feel pain anymore.

My friend, Kay,  had her gall bladder taken out not too long ago. This is painful and requires a healing process, but then it’s over. All Kay has to do is watch her already-perfect diet. She won’t have to get anymore surgeries or inject herself with man-made hormones. She is “fixed” now. That diseased gallbladder will not grow back. 

For someone with endometriosis, surgeries don’t offer a cure. They offer a little bit of relief (hopefully). Post-op reports are usually filled with tears and frustration, followed by “plans of actions”. The doctor lays out all the details, and then the next move is agreed upon. There is no wasting time. There is no lapse in treatment. 

Unlike a gallbladder, the endo knows how to grow back. The reality of the persistence of the disease keeps me in check. Sadly, I knew better than to expect a good post-op report today. 

Dr. G started the appointment off with some basic questions on how I was feeling. Then, he put the surgery photos before me, shook his head, and said, 
“I’m so sorry. 
You had endo out the wazoo”.  

Endo out the wazoo? Huh?? Dr. G has been known to say some twisted-funny things, but this left me a little confused. I was afraid to ask.

Thank God, I didn’t have to. Dr. G saw my face and explained everything. As it turns out, he wasn’t saying that I had endo coming out of my ass (sigh of relief!). “Endo out the wazoo” meant that I had endo lesions spread everywhere, along with adhesions binding my ovaries, uterus, and intestines together.

Enough said on details. We decided on our routine game plan. The same plan that failed to take my pain last time. The same plan that had me back again.

I tell myself that maybe it will be different.

Maybe my pain will get better.

Maybe this drug won’t be as bad as I remember.

And maybe this will never happen again. 

1 comment:

  1. Oh lady, I wish I had words beyond "been there, done that", but... it's all I've got. Mostly because I do know how you feel, and how freaking frustrating it is to go through this. To be told that you have to try the same path that didn't work before because there just isn't anything left to try. If I didn't love my doctor so much, I would have given up entirely on Western medicine a long time ago. But I do love her and trust her and know she's doing the best she can with me and my case. Likely the best anyone could do. And I am sure the same is true of your doctor, so you do need to try to trust in that...

    I wish there was more than just that trust though...