The Chaos Inside My Head

April 7, 2009 will forever be burned into my memory.  It’s the day that, at 29 years old, I had a hysterectomy.  It’s the day that, at  29 years old,  I lost a piece of myself.  My whole life I was never the girl who wanted to grow up, get married, and have kids, but losing this part of myself makes me feel like less of a woman.  And I know that it shouldn’t…and I know it will take time…but as of right now, I don’t feel like the Layla from five years ago, six months ago, three weeks ago.  I need to find out who I am.  So, how did I get to this point?

For several months, I’d been having stomach pains.  It started off subtly.  A little pain in my stomach after eating.  No big deal, just a little discomfort.  It slowly turned into something much bigger…feeling like hot coals were being dumped into my bowels, doubling over in pain, bleeding from the inside out.  I went to several doctors and no one could tell me what was wrong.  It got to the point where I was taking Aleve every day just to be able to get out of bed.  And then the Aleve stopped working.  It was affecting my job (both jobs) and it was no way to live.  I ended up switching doctors and making an appointment with a gynecologist that my mom suggested, but she had no openings for a month or so.  With the pain that I was in, I couldn’t wait that long.  I called the last gyno that I went to, but made an appointment with a different doctor and she was able to get me in the same day I called.

You know when you go to the gyno, you’re already uncomfortable because, you know, people are sticking things up inside you that don’t belong?  Well, imagine that about ten times worse, pile on the fact that you’re already in excrutiating pain, and then multiply the fact that you’re bleeding on the table like an open faucet.  Not a great experience at all.  If that had been my only experience with that doctor, she never would have seen me again, but she turned out to be one of the best doctors I’ve ever had.  She ended up sending me for an ultrasound (internal and external) and a few days later, I found out that I needed a DNC because my uterine lining was three times the size of what it should be.  At the time of the DNC, my doctor also wanted to do a laproscopic procedure to see if I had endometriosis.  It was an in and out procedure and I was only supposed to be out of work for two days at the most.

The day of my procedure, I woke up in the recovery room in extreme pain.  During my laparascopic procedure, the doctor found out that my appendix was about to burst and had to be removed.  Later, she told me that this was probably the reason why my stomach was hurting.  While recovering in the hospital, my pain wasn’t going away and it was more in the pelvic area and not in the region where my appendix was removed.  The hospital had me on several fluids and two antibiotics and I wasn’t feeling any better.  I had no appetite and all I wanted to do was sleep.  I didn’t eat anything for four days and when I tried eating, I couldn’t keep anything down.  My nurse (or, one of my nurses) knew that what was making me nauseous was one of the antibiotics I was on and she convinced my doctor to take me off of them.  I felt better instantly.  The next day (April 5th by this time), my doctor came into my room, turned off the T.V. and told my mom to sit down.  After testing all of the tissue they took out of me, they found out that I had uterine cancer.  They weren’t sure what stage I was at or if it had spread.  All my doctor knew was that I would need a hysterectomy.  She wouldn’t know until my surgery if she’d be able to save my ovaries, but it was highly unlikely.  If she couldn’t save at least one ovary, there was a good chance I’d have to be on hormones the rest of my life.  It also meant that I would go through menopause at 29…and it wouldn’t be a gradual transition.  It would be like being pushed into the middle of the highway with a semi barreling straight towards me.

After the doctor left, my mom and I looked at each other and started crying.  I cried because I had cancer.  I cried because I didn’t know if I was going to die.  I cried for the babies I thought I would never have and the babies I would never get a chance to have.  I cried because there were many, many times when I was lying in bed in pain, wishing I could just get rid of my uterus so I wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore.

When my surgery was over, I felt like death.  More importantly, I felt empty.  I felt hollow.  I didn’t feel like a woman anymore.  But I soldiered on, because if I had to stay in that hospital bed another day,  Iwas going to go insane.  I still had a few more days before I would find out if my cancer had spread, but I was so happy to be getting out of the hospital, I put it out of my mind for a while.  After 10 days in a cramped room, stepping out, or rather being wheeled out, into the sun was like entering a new world.  I felt like I was seeing flying cars and spaceships.  I didn’t do much for the next few day except sleep.  And there was good news on the horizon…the cancer hadn’t spread, so I wouldn’t need chemo or radiation, although she did have to remove both ovaries, so I would have to have more tests to see if I needed to be on hormones.

The other day, I asked my mom if I could be considered a “cancer survivor”.  She said yes, but in my mind, I feel like an imposter.  I mean, I got off pretty easy, didn’t I?  At the same time, I feel like kicking myself in the ass and saying, “Hello!!! You got off easy!”  I should be grateful.  And I am.  I’m grateful that all I have to do now is concentrate on getting better.  I’m grateful that I have a second chance to live the life that I want.  I’m grateful to my friends/family/coworkers who gave me strength and support through all of this.  Without them, I think I would still be wasting away in the hospital.

I guess, right now, my mind is…quiet.  I haven’t really dealt with what happened.  Even writing this, I’m not delving too deep into the emotional side of it all.  I know I will.  I just don’t know what will happen when I do.