A few days later I got a call with the results from that horrible test. My doctor concluded that I had a stricture in my small intestine caused by scar tissue around the area. The scar tissue was a result of years and years of Crohn's Disease recurring at the same site.
You're going to need to have surgery, my doctor informed me.
Yeah I figured, I said.
Honestly, I don't know why you didn't have this done years ago.
Yeah. Me neither...
At least by this point, I was confident that my doctor knew his stuff. I didn't feel like I was being blamed for my disease anymore and that the symptoms I had been describing for what seemed like forever were not all just in my head. I felt like I finally had an ally in the medical system. After I hung up the phone, I told my Mom and Dad that I would in fact need surgery. I think they expected it and were optimistic that it would be good for me in the long run. (Spoiler alert: it was.) When I met with my GI doc, he gave me a few surgeons to choose from complete with photo, bio, and area of expertise. I, being the nervous nelly that I am, picked the head of surgery in Gastroenterology and Endocrinology. He seems like a safe bet, I thought to myself. So I made an appointment with him and just like that, I had set a date: September 17th, 2009. I chose September because I was going to be a bridesmaid in July and I was told that the recovery time for a surgery like this was between two to three months. Better stay on the safe side. I'm not going to get into it, but a lot of bummer-worthy personal life stuff happened during that summer and by the time surgery season had approached I needed a vacation, so I went out to Star Island on the Isles of Shoals to unwind for a few days. While I was there, I got a voicemail from my surgeon telling me something had come up and he had to postpone my surgery for another week. I was a little pissed at first, because I had done all this mental preparation and had really come to terms with being incapacitated for the next two or three months. But who am I kidding, I was also totally psyched to have one more week of freedom, and by this point I was actually feeling great so I wanted to live it up as much as I could. (And by live it up I mean I went to a lot of bookstores and bought a bunch of books for my recovery that I never actually read. This kind of stuff excites me, clearly I am a bit of an introvert.)
So that extra week came and went quicker than I could have every imagined and before I knew it, it was the night before my surgery. Now, I say I was "mentally prepared", but what I mean is that I was still very much freaking out that I would a.) die on the operating table b.) wake up during surgery c.) throw up uncontrollably after surgery d.) lose a scary amount of weight from my 97 pound body immediately after and e.) sneeze every ten minutes after surgery and bust a stitch because my allergies had really kicked it up that year. I just decided to try not to worry so much and remember that I would be knocked out for all the painful stuff and that when I woke up, I would be on all kinds of wonderful drugs that would make everything okay. And boy, did they ever make things feel pretty okay for a while. I got into bed and relished in the comfort of it before my last night before surgery. The next would be one to remember.
Tune in next time for: Surgery Day
You're going to need to have surgery, my doctor informed me.
Yeah I figured, I said.
Honestly, I don't know why you didn't have this done years ago.
Yeah. Me neither...
At least by this point, I was confident that my doctor knew his stuff. I didn't feel like I was being blamed for my disease anymore and that the symptoms I had been describing for what seemed like forever were not all just in my head. I felt like I finally had an ally in the medical system. After I hung up the phone, I told my Mom and Dad that I would in fact need surgery. I think they expected it and were optimistic that it would be good for me in the long run. (Spoiler alert: it was.) When I met with my GI doc, he gave me a few surgeons to choose from complete with photo, bio, and area of expertise. I, being the nervous nelly that I am, picked the head of surgery in Gastroenterology and Endocrinology. He seems like a safe bet, I thought to myself. So I made an appointment with him and just like that, I had set a date: September 17th, 2009. I chose September because I was going to be a bridesmaid in July and I was told that the recovery time for a surgery like this was between two to three months. Better stay on the safe side. I'm not going to get into it, but a lot of bummer-worthy personal life stuff happened during that summer and by the time surgery season had approached I needed a vacation, so I went out to Star Island on the Isles of Shoals to unwind for a few days. While I was there, I got a voicemail from my surgeon telling me something had come up and he had to postpone my surgery for another week. I was a little pissed at first, because I had done all this mental preparation and had really come to terms with being incapacitated for the next two or three months. But who am I kidding, I was also totally psyched to have one more week of freedom, and by this point I was actually feeling great so I wanted to live it up as much as I could. (And by live it up I mean I went to a lot of bookstores and bought a bunch of books for my recovery that I never actually read. This kind of stuff excites me, clearly I am a bit of an introvert.)
So that extra week came and went quicker than I could have every imagined and before I knew it, it was the night before my surgery. Now, I say I was "mentally prepared", but what I mean is that I was still very much freaking out that I would a.) die on the operating table b.) wake up during surgery c.) throw up uncontrollably after surgery d.) lose a scary amount of weight from my 97 pound body immediately after and e.) sneeze every ten minutes after surgery and bust a stitch because my allergies had really kicked it up that year. I just decided to try not to worry so much and remember that I would be knocked out for all the painful stuff and that when I woke up, I would be on all kinds of wonderful drugs that would make everything okay. And boy, did they ever make things feel pretty okay for a while. I got into bed and relished in the comfort of it before my last night before surgery. The next would be one to remember.
Tune in next time for: Surgery Day
No comments:
Post a Comment