I’ve been dreading this day and honestly, I’ve been really scared of it. I don’t do well with this sort of thing. No one enjoys pelvic exams, but many don’t mind it. They’re no big deal, something every woman goes through each year. But me? I *really* don’t like pelvic exams. Nobody should be down there unless we’ve both agreed to have a good time. And my idea of a good time has nothing to do with metal instruments that hold me open or scrape my insides out.
But since the results of my last exam was concerning to my doctor, this is something that had to be done.
As I walked into the gynecologist’s office, the first piece of bad news was the scale. I’ve friggin’ gained 7 pounds since Thanksgiving Day. That’s a gain of .22 pounds each day.
Every. Single. Day.
Let’s hope I get my ass in gear again soon or I’ll have to stop eating. And I really don’t want to do that.
The nurse took my blood pressure (low, but good) and explained what she thought the doctor will do today. A vaginal ultrasound (no big whoop, could almost be called pleasant) then the doc would prop me open with the speculum (horrible metal object) and insert a biopsy catheter that would take a piece of the lining around my uterus.
The doc arrived and I really like her. Dr. Bentley is older than myself, shorter and a bit rounder. She’s quite maternal but seems like she’d be stern when she needed to be. She calls stirrups “foolish” and did everything she could to keep me comfortable.
But the procedure was absolutely horrible.
The ultrasound was fine. Yay! Then, of course, I was propped open. Fine. I started my deep breathing and focused on relaxing. The doctor talked to me throughout, explaining what she was doing and what to expect. “This will be a little pinch,” she said, as I sucked my breath in through my teeth. “This will make you cramp a bit,” and immediately the cramps began. But it was ok. I was breathing in and out, until she said, “Ok, I need to try something else.” I heard her unwrap a new tool and she told me I’d cramp some more.
But it wasn’t just cramping. I’m not sure what to compare it to. All I can tell you is that I cried out then groaned with pain and lost any kind of focus or deep breathing or any fucking thing. I think this only lasted a few seconds, because Dr. Bentley said, “Ok, that’s enough. I can’t do the biopsy but I will *not* torture you.”
She extracted all the metal from my body, then removed my feet from the stirrups and placed them on a step while covering my legs with the blanket. “Are you ok?” she asked. I nodded because I couldn’t quite speak. Finally I squeaked, “What happens now?”
A D&C in a hospital with general anesthesia.
Dr. Bentley left me to rest for a few minutes and I lay there on the table with waves of frustration and grief and pain washing over me…and I cried. I tried to hold it in, but there was no way that was happening. I bit back sobs at least, and hiccupped my crying to a minimum. I didn’t want the doctor to see me vulnerable and a mess. I know she would have comforted me, but I didn’t want it. I was just so…angry! I just went through all of this for absolutely nothing. The doctor couldn’t get that *one* piece of tissue she needed to make sure that my body was really ok and *not* creating cancerous cells. But no!! My body refused to cooperate and now I get to be opened and scraped and closely examined with a hysteroscope.
The silver lining? Well…I get to be unconscious for the procedure and miss two days from work. Although that would be my last two days of sick time, so neither my son nor I will be allowed to be ill for the rest of the winter. But that’s beside the point. Silver lining!!
I have to say that I did hope 2015 would begin in a slightly better manner than having my body propped open and scraped out. But that’s not meant to be, and it really is ok. Since my last post, I have heard many stories about abnormal pap smears and biopsies and lesions scraped from cervixes. Horrible, horrible things! But every single person said this, “It will be ok. YOU’LL be ok.”
And you’re right. I will be. Because of you.
You may have not been there to hold my hand today—and seriously, you wouldn’t have wanted to. (Plus there was no room. These exam rooms are tiny!) But I still felt like you *were* there, telling me what you’ve been telling me all along. “It will all be ok. It will.”